


A new Blackfyre.

by Khaleesi_of_a_great_fluffy_carpet



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Elia Martell Lives, He is an asshole so be warned, Jerk Jon Snow, Main character Jon Snow, Misogyny, Multi, Ned stole Jon, PC agenda DOESN'T exist in Westeros, Racism, Rhaegar Targaryen Lives, Rhaenys Targaryen Lives, Sheepstealer - Freeform, Silverwing - Freeform, Slavery, The Golden Company (ASoIaF), This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, You Have Been Warned, cannibal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:39:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 29
Words: 93,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26352046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaleesi_of_a_great_fluffy_carpet/pseuds/Khaleesi_of_a_great_fluffy_carpet
Summary: Oh… She died in childbirth… Now he remembered.“I am dreaming again, am I?” Rhaegar asked sadly, feeling despair take over his being and closing his throat. “I don’t want to wake up, I want to stay here with you.”“I know, Rhae, but you must. Our cub needs you; he is a lost wanderer guided by perilous stars. You must help him.” Lyanna whispered.“No, Lya, it’s her not him, remember?” His tears fell freely. He tried to be firm for her, but it was too much pain. “And she died too. Our Visenya died, I’m sorry.”She smiled, denying with her head, then led the hand that was on her cheek to her belly, placing it right in the middle of the bump. The baby kicked and his hand burned where it hit..“Daemon.” Her heard her mutter.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 141
Kudos: 191





	1. Eddard -The honor.... / Jaime - New king...

**Author's Note:**

> Notes at the end of the POV (sometimes).

#### EDDARD – The honor of a man. The love for a sister.

King’s Landing - 283 AL.

Ned was sick of this war. Everything about it was wrong from the beginning. He knew Lya did not want to marry Robert, but he insisted on it anyway. He had to; Robert was his best friend, his brother, and due to his folly, Robert was dead. Robert, Brandon, his father, Elbert, all of them, dead. Aerys and Rhaegar murdered his loved ones, and yet the Targaryens were the rulers. They won. And Lya….. No… He could never blame Lya. She was his little sister. Ned knew that she could not have been kidnapped, that she certainly broke the engagement and ran away with the prince. But Lya was so young, and one of the precious few family that he had left. He could never hate her.

Ned marched to King’s Landing, with the rest of his army, after Robert was defeated in the Trident. He lost the war that day, he knew, but he could still invade the capital and kill the king in order to obtain some justice to all the fallen. However, he arrived too late because the king was already dead by the hands of his kingsguard Jaime Lannister no less. Queen Rhaella opened the gates for him and Tywin Lannister, who was already waiting outside the city, upon his oath to cease any hostilities against the crown.

If Aerys was alive, going to him to face ‘justice’ would be equal to a brutal and painful death sentence. But Rhaegar was the king now and he would not kill him, not after all the harm he caused the Starks. And so it was, the new king not only pardoned him, but requested that he fetch Lya from Dorne and accompany her to King’s Landing thereafter.

His beloved “second” queen, the king said, as if marring a second woman was acceptable.

“Lord Eddard, you rebelled against the crown, took arms against my family, the same one the Wardens of the North swore to obey. Despite this, you and I are brothers by marriage, and I wish for no more grief in my wife’s family. What my father did was terrible, and punishment enough” The king’s voice echoed in the throne room.

There he was, kneeled before Rhaegar in front of the Iron Throne, among all the other lords gathered for the crowing of their new king.

After the rebellion, justice would have to be served to all those involved. Thank the gods Rhaegar was understanding at least.

“Wife?...”. Eddard must have misheard. Did he mean Lyanna? Impossible, his wife queen Elia was sitting beside him. The dornish princess flinched from his stare, and focused on her royal husband.

“Yes”. Rhaegar smiled sadly, as if overcome by a fondle memory. “Lyanna and I married beneath a heart tree, in the way of the old gods, as she wished. It happened soon after the Tourney of Harrenhal, which I am certain you remember, my Lord.”

He also married Lyanna? That was preposterous! His father had never been informed about this, none of them had; otherwise, such abomination would be never allowed. Ned heard whispers in the background, the nobles in the throne room equally astonished by the king’s actions, and it just made him angrier.

“I did not know of this! We heard nothin’ about marriage! My sister just disappeared one day, alongside Targaryen banners!”.

After Lyanna vanquished, the only clues they had of her whereabouts were from some locals from the nearby village who claimed to see several knights bearing the Targaryen sigil near the location. In Brandon’s mind, there was no doubt she was kidnapped by the crown prince, who had made known his fancy for her when he crowned Lya the Queen of Love and Beauty. In a way, his brother was right.

“Yes, it was… a grievous mistake”. Ned could not believe his ears. “I should have taken precautions to inform Lord Rickard about my arrangement with Lyanna, but I needed time, and her wedding with Baratheon was nearing….”. The king stopped himself, uncertain of what to say next, for nothing could justify such irresponsibility in Eddard’s opinion. By his side, queen Elia also showed signs of embarrassment for her husband’s behavior. He didn’t give the king a chance to continue his excuses. 

“YOU THINK!!! My brother is dead, my father is dead, because you did whatever you wanted without thinking of the consequences!!!” . As he yelled, Ned raised to his feet leaving his submissive position. Arthur Dayne, the loyal kingsguard beside the throne, unsheathed his famous pale sword, Dawn, and stepped forward threateningly.

“Careful, Lord Stark, you’re talking to your king”. How a good and honorable knight like Arthur could follow Rhaegar with all this nonsense was lost in Ned. It said the he was the responsible for Rhaegar’s victory and survival in the Trident. He glanced at the knight’s half-unsheathed sword and recomposed himself.

“Perhaps you should talk to your sister before we address this matter further, Lord Stark”. Queen Elia intervened. “Many things happened in the past months, things that could have been avoided, and only the Gods could understand you pain right now. We know Robert Baratheon was your close friend, but remember you committed treason. Perhaps it’s for the best to try to put what happened behind us and focus on the future”. The way she spoke gave him no room for arguments.

“Did you agree with this second marriage your grace? Is it valid?”. Ned refused to look at Rhaegar, he decided to focus in Queen Elia for the moment.

“I… Sure, is valid. You must understand, my Lord, although it was a lawful ceremony, many may not recognize as such. I knew about it and offered my blessing”. Elia was clearly bothered. Ned was unsure how this woman would treat Lya in the future. He wondered if her ‘blessing’ was given willingly, after all no sane women would approve such folly from her husband.

“Dorne?”. It was a small defiance, but he had to ask.

“Among others”. She glared at him. _There it is, bothered for sure._

“Not one will question my marriage, Lyanna is my queen and that is final, Dorne has no say in this”. The king cut in with an iron tone. He addressed all those in the room, and proclaimed sternly “Let it be known that Lady Lyanna of House Stark and myself wedded many moons ago, and she is my lawful queen, and equal to queen Elia of House Nymeros Martell. As my ancestor did long before me, I took two wives, and anyone who disrespect my wish is a traitor of the realm.”

The whispering arose, and among the crowd the High Septon stepped forward, unsure and fidgeting over his duty to oppose the king. “Your grace, to take a second wife is a profanity against the Light of the Seven. The holy scriptures expressively forbid-”.

His grace interrupted the Septon with impatience. “The Holy Scriptures forbid a many great deal His High Holiness. Marriage between a brother to his sister for example. Still, my parents wedded without any apposition, and the same occurred with many others within my family. Targaryens don’t follow the laws of gods and men, so I must advise you to don’t intervene in my affairs.”.

The High Septon quickly retook his place in the crowd, his head down and complaint. The old man feared the king’s reaction. Like him, many recorded well what happened to those who questioned the last king, Aerys Targaryen. During that dark time, the crown prince Rhaegar Targaryen was the realm best last hope against the Mad King, and all cheered for a swift beginning of his reign.

But that was before the war - a bloody stain in Rhaegar’s ascension to the throne.

Aware of the uneasiness permeating the room, the king’s stare softened following his rant, and he sighed tired, again addressing the people present. “Our realm has gone through many perils under my father’s reign, my lords and ladies, I understand the great responsibility that befell on me following such cruel times. I am not my father, and I promise you to always listen and work for the best interest of all my subjects. My queens Elia and Lyanna will be by my side, offering their council and representation from the most distant sides of Westeros, from Winterfell to Sunspear.”

Ned watched numb to the king’s words. He wasn’t interested in the man’s empty promises and delusions. He already got his pardon, now all he needed was to have a word with Lyanna. Therefore, he required her location.

“Your Grace, if a may, I would like to talk to my sister.”. Rhaegar turned his attention to him again, those strange indigo eyes bearing into Ned’s soul, as if deciding if he was worthy to meet with Lyanna again without initiating another rebellion. _But it was not me who started it, your grace, it was you_.

“I think it’s only fair you reencounter with Lyanna, Lord Stark. She will be very pleased.”. He said after a brief moment. “Unfortunately she is not in the capitol; I took her to a small tower in the north of Dorne to keep her safe from my father’s antics”. Ned glanced at Queen Elia again, trying to gather any clues about such odd arrangement in her demeanor. Her husband just admitted to protect his other wife from the old king’s madness, whilst she was left in the capital with her children and the mad man. However, she remained placid, poised proudly in all her majesty. “I was about to order Ser Gerold to bring her to me, since I am too busy right now with the transition, but perhaps it’s for the best you go along, my Lord. She will be delighted. When you return we could have a second wedding ceremony, one more suitable for the union of our houses, don’t you agree?” He had the gall to smile to him, as if they were friends.

Ned swallowed his indignation and remained mute. Without any answer the king proceeded. “I have received no word of her since we parted ways. Prince Lewyn is in the tower to guard her, but he is silent as well. I am sure she is well, she must be.” Rhaegar was more likely trying to appease himself than Ned. “I will give you a letter to deliver to her. Ser Gerold will accompany you to the Tower, to make sure all goes well.”

_To make sure I don’t deviate from his plans and cause problems again._ It was a subtle threat, but clear enough. In the end, Lyanna was more than a queen, she was a hostage too. The warning was wasted on him, the North suffered enough and Ned would no longer continue the fight, no matter how much Rhaegar deserved it.

He was ready to retire, but before Ned could leave, Arthur Dayne draw the king attention, and spoke something on his ear. It seems it was not over.

“Ser Arthur remind me another matter of importance, Lord Eddard. Is unfortunate, but you must now that Lady Ashara Dayne gave birth to a girl, a bastard girl, whose father is rumored to be your brother Brandon Stark. Were you aware of it?”

No… Not Ashara, he loved her, she was everything to him once. Now he was married to Catelyn - he had to fulfill the agreement made with Lord Hoster Tully instead of his brother. Thereof Ashara was put aside as a result. No wonder there was hate in the Sword of the Morning’s look towards him.

“My brother your grace? Who said so?”

“I did. My dear friend lady Ashara told me about her involvement with Brandon Stark during the Tourney of Harenhall”. Queen Elia told him. “Now that a daughter was born out of it months ago, is only right that house Stark provide something for the girl, even if nothing can pay for the lady’s honor”.

Had Ashara been pregnant with Brandon’s child then? It fits, Brandon was always the dashing, charming heir, his wolfblood attracted many a lady’s attention. Ned wanted to feel betrayed, but he was the one married with another in the end.

“Naturally house Dayne will be compensated for the trouble, your graces. The girl will receive a dowry and house Stark will provide for her”.

________________________________________

Tower of Joy - 283 AL.

Accompanied by a handful of soldiers, his bannerman Howland Reed and Ser Gerold Hightower, who the king offered as a companion for the trip – or an enforcer perharps - , he finally reached the damn tower in the middle of nowhere, after weeks of traveling, some of those under the hellish dornish sun. The heat was unbearable for his northern blood, surely Lya felt the same this whole time. _And Rhaegar just abandoned her here._

They met Prince Lewyn Martell, one of the kingsguards, outside the tower. He was vigilant and awake in the dark of night; the sun would rise at any moment. The man hurried to greet his fellow white cloak, Sir Gerold Hightower, and offered his greetings to the northerners as well. The prince seemed distress, especially upon seen him among the entourage.

“Lord Stark, it’s good you came. I thought the king would come as well.” The question was implied, but Ned didn’t want to try and answer, he was more interested in the way the prince kept turning his head to glance at the top of the tower.

“The king is busy overtaking his new responsibilities; he can’t leave the capital for now. We are entrusted to escort Queen Lyanna to King’s Landing. Lord Eddard Stark came along for his sister.” Sir Gerold replied instead.

“You arrived just in time, the Queen-” A painful scream erupted from the tower, and prince Lewyn turned again to gaze at its highest window. The female shriek scared all the man present, and Ned anguished over the lack of explanation from the kingsguard.

He grabbed the prince’s arm and pulled to him in desperation. “What is happening? Where is Lyanna?”

Prince Lewyn seemed desolated, he shook his head and gaze the floor. “She is like that for hours, there is nothing we can do, I am so sorry.” Eddard didn’t wait for more, he hurried inside and through the set of stairs towards his sister. He could hear his bannerman Howland rushing after him, but the others didn’t dare to follow. Ned stormed into the chamber in the peak of the tower and found an image that would hunt him for the rest of his life: his little sister, dying, in a bed of blood.

He approached the bed and crouched beside Lyanna. The two maids present rushed to bring him a seat, while wiping the sweat from her face with a white cloth. Lya seemed so tired and weak, his fearless and boyish baby sister lying in that soaked bed, clinging for her life. She took a while to note his presence, but he didn’t want to alarm her, so he held her hand and waited “Big brother, is that you?”

She began to cry even more when she realized he was here. Ned put his hand on her face and caress her forehead. “Lya, it’s me, I am here now. Everythin’ is goin’ to be okay..”

Gods, the smell, the blood, the smoke from the candles, her tears, Lyanna…

“Ned I am sorry, I am so sorry… Brandon, father…”. She sobbed and squeezed his hand with all the strength still left, the sight breaking his heart. That was no time to reminisce about such things.

“Shhh, that’s okay, Lya, that’s okay. Don’t think about it, ‘twas not your fault.” He tried to soothe her.

“Yes, yes it was. Rhaegar and I, we made a huge mistake, and now….” She wander for a moment, her breath becoming slowly. The scent of her blood invade the room, making him fell in a battlefield, surrounded by the morbid scent of death. Ned didn’t even have the time to wonder or guess why so much blood was in the sheets. “I don’t want to die…”. Lyanna was still fighting, but the shine in her eyes fading.

“You are not going to die, we will fix this, we’ll get you a maester. SOMEONE GET HER A MAESTER!!.” The maester should be with his sister already. He shouted at the two maids, but they only looked frightened at him, without a reaction.

“Ned, listen to me…” Lya wanted to engage him, but her health was his biggest concern. He gave her a tender caress in the arm and kept admonishing the maids. Howland followed one of them inside other room – still, nothing was happening.

“A maester now!!! What are you doing?! Move!” The older woman stood near Lyanna, but said nothing. She just glimpse at Ned and negate with her head, then he understood. There was no maester. The king left her here with two handmaids and a guard only, with no one to tender for her in case of an event such as this.

_I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help her._ He realized desperate.

“Ned, please, listen to me. You have to protect him.”

“Who? Lya, wh – “. In this moment he heard, he saw.. _. Oh no, Lya, no_. The younger handmaid came from the other room holding a baby - a little bundle wrapped in a blanket, but he could hear its soft sighs.

That’s the reason she was… The blood…. He didn’t want to think about it. Their mother, Lyarra Stark, had died the same way. But Lyanna was only fifteen years old, too young for any of this. Even so, there it was, her baby being placed in his arms.

“His name is Daemon Targaryen.” Lyanna whispered softly. Ned peered the boy, dark hair and silver eyes, he could see through the baby’s half opened eyelids. Just like his mother. “You have to protect him. He will save us, save the world, the gods showed me, Ned. Rhaegar was wrong, Aegon is not the promised prince, it’s Daemon. His is the song of ice and fire. I fear for him. Promise me Ned...”.

He had no idea of what she was talking about. Howland, however, approach her other side and, tenderly holding her hand, assured her in a soft tone. “Don’t worry, my lady. The prophecy will be fullfiled, your son will be our savior. I will help to guide him when the time is right. You have my word.”. 

Lyanna smiled at her old friend, then turned to Ned waiting for his oath as well. He gave it, of course, there was nothing he could deny her. Perhaps had he, his father and brother not indulge her so much, all this disgrace would have been avoided.

“I promise sister.” Ned whispered to her and she smiled.

And so, as if she had fullfiled her task in earth, Lyanna closed her eyes and fell in the eternal slumber. 

_______________________________

__

Tower of the Joy, by El Andyjack

Upon leaving the tower, Ned wasn’t thinking straight. His father, brother and now sister dead - in his arms, a babe boy with her eyes. The sky was red with the light of the morning; a bloody sky.

Prince Lewyn Martell was the first to approach him.

“How is the queen?” He asked anxious. Howland explained what happened and the prince turned to Eddard, taking a peek of the baby. “I am sorry my Lord, truly. She wrote many letters, but I could not send any. There was a high risk of one of them end up intercepted by enemies. Many would want her grace dead, so I could not take the risk.”.

_The Martells would want her dead_. Ned thought somber. _They could easily intercept a raven here._

“We can at least deliver these letters to the king now.”. Ser Gerold reflected. “You did right, Lewyn. We have to continue our travel with the little prince from now on. What a disgrace… Poor girl. My condolences, Lord Stark.”.

Eddard breathing became ragged and he braced himself. That _‘girl’_ was their queen, but that was it, wasn’t it? Lya would never have been respected in Rhaegar’s court. She was the king’s mistress. A wedding ceremony in front of a weirwood meant nothing to southerners. His distress must be showing, for Reed looked worried at him.

“My lord, are you all right?”

No, he was not all right. Now he has to go to King’s Landing and give the boy to Rhaegar. To the Targaryens. The boy would be hated, he knew. The Martells would sneer at him - the Queen, the whole court would. ‘ _promise me Ned_ ’ . He lost his family and the Targaryens would prevail, again. ‘ _You have to protect him’_.

“We could pass in a village to reestablish before returning. Due to the baby the travel will take longer, but we cannot take any risks.” Ned could only hear ser Gerold speak in the back of his mind.

“No”. He blurted resolute. The single word putting every men present on their heels.

“What?”. The old knight questioned startled.

“I will not take my nephew to King’s Landing. He’ll return to his place, the North, with me.”. Both kingsguards were facing him like one does a mad men.

“Are you out of your mind, Lord Stark? This is a prince of the realm, the king’s son.”

“I will take my sister’s body to Winterfell, where all the Starks are buried, and Lya’s son will go with me.”. His statement also disturbed Howland, the bannerman opened his mouth to argue but Ned silenced him with a sign of his hand.

“This will not happen. We are the king’s men, we will take the prince to his royal family, you want it or not.” The old knight said, and the prince persisted further.

“Lord Stark, I understand grief may cause a man to say all kinds of absurdities, but what you say is impossible. We cannot allow you to return North with a prince of the realm, ‘tis kidnapping.”

Ned knew this would happen, of course. He carefully deposit the boy in the nearest wagon while drawing his sword. The rest of his men followed his intention.

“What are you doing, man?! This is treason!” Both of the king’s knights looked horrified at the northerners, they didn’t expect such thing from Eddard Stark, and the thought left him uneasy.

“I know, I’m sorry sirs, but I have to protect what’s left of my family.”

It was only five men against two kingsguards – so the odds were in their favor. Prince Lewyn really had no chance to fight, for he was stabbed in the back by one of Ned’s man before he could reach his sword. Ser Gerold, The White Bull, however, managed to take three of his soldiers before going down, and even then he did it with a dignity few possessed. The kingsguard’s fame was well earned - those knights deserved a better death than that.

“What have we done? My Lord, this is ground for another war. Two kingsguards are dead, how do we explain this?” Howland was terrified glaring at the bodies. After the fight the two of them were the only ones left. The small cragnomen bent down besides one warrior and tenderly closed his glazed eyes.

“It was, Howland, I know. But it had to be done.”

“Why?” He let out in anguish.

“You know why! My nephew have to return with me, Lyanna…. I promised.”

“His family are in King’s Landing, his father is the king. I am sure Lady Lyanna wouldn’t want her son being separated from them.”

“The Targaryens don’t deserve this! Don’t worry Howland, only we know what happened now. We and the servants in the tower, but to whom they will tell the tale?”

“What about the bodies?”

“You go back to the capital and tell what happened to Lya. Tell the baby was a stillborn, and Prince Lewyn was already dead when we got here. Ser Gerold was old, so he died in our travel, fighting against bandits. I’m going back to the North, and hopefully never head to the south again.”

“Do you think they will believe it, my lord?”

“Why wouldn’t they?” He stated simply.

___________________________________________

Ned got close to the capital, just enough to regroup with the rest of his men, but didn’t cross the gates. He didn’t own nothing to the royal family, not his presence and not a personal explanation. Howland would be able to handle this.

As for Ned, he could finally return to Winterfell, encounter Catelyn and at last meet his son, Robert. His nephew could pass as his son, for his coloring helped greatly, and men fathering bastards amidst battles was not unusual. His wife would hate him for it, that was true, but nothing were just in this war anyway. Everything about it was wrong from the beginning.

* * *

#### JAIME – New king. New hope.

King’s Landing - 283 AL

The day his was knighted a kingsguard, during the Tourney of Harrenhal, was the happiest of his life - at least for a short while. It quickly vanquished when he was send back to King’s Landing and the nightmare began. The cruelty, the burnings, the queen’s abuse - king Aerys was nothing short of the worst monsters he could have imagined. There was nothing glorious or dignified in being a kingsguard to that maniac. He was the son of Tywin Lannister and one of the greatest swordsmen in Westeros, a true prodigy, he deserved more.

Therefore, he could not regret killing him. Not really. He said before trial that he did regret, that he should have thought of another way to stop the king from burning the city. Truth was he liked killing Aerys, and he could do it again. Queen Rhaella probably saw through his lies, but he could bet his sword arm she was even gladder than he was that he killed her brother-husband.

He was pardoned rather easily. Not the same happened to the Baratheons, Arryns and Tullys. The first lost all their lands and titles, while the two others received a fine so high Jaime doubted if even his family could afford it.

After the king was dead, the queen mother only allowed the gates to be opened when Lord Stark arrived with his forces. His father, Tywin Lannister, had to wait outside the city until then. Smart woman. Jaime didn’t like to think ill of his father, but the Lord of Casterly Rock was conniving and ambitious, too dangerous to be left in by himself.

Lord Stark however, even being a traitor, would cause no trouble. His whore of a sister was in possession of the prince – no, the king. How amusing was to see the honorable Starks being reduced to this.

The king did love the she-wolf though. Upon news of her death in childbirth, he collapsed weeping in front of all present in the room. By luck, it was just Queen Elia, the dowager Queen Rhaella, some kingsguards including Jaime, the spider Varys and the little cragnoman Howland Reed, who delivered the news. Therefore, Rhaegar was spared the humiliation of crying before the court due to his lover. Jaime never imagined he would see the cold and aloof Rhaegar Targaryen show so much emotion.

_Cersei never really got a chance with the man_ , he thought to himself. His sister had told him during the Tourney that Rhaegar was only infatuated with the northern. Now Jaime knew better.

Probably due to the shame, Ned Stark did not return to court, choosing to send his bannerman in his stead. Not that anyone cared anyway. The king announced the Stark woman as his ‘other queen’, but it was all nonsense in Jaime’s opinion; the girl was his mistress, nor his wife. Cersei would be smarter, demanding the king to annul his marriage with the dornish princess first - if she had any chance with him at all, which she hadn’t.

None of that matter. Queen Elia was still alive, so his twin could forget her hopes of being queen. Jaime didn’t mind either - he would prefer Cersei to marry and go far away from him than listening to her fucking the king while he guards the door.

Jaime and Cersei could never be together as lovers, or as husband and wife - of that, he was resolute.

Instead of mourn their fate however, Cersei prefer to annoy him with her incessant complaining.

“She is so ugly, no wonder Rhaegar had to look elsewhere”. They were together in the throne room, while their father was discussing something Jaime didn’t care with the Queen. Only Cersei could insult the woman while she was presiding court, in the place of her husband sunken in grief. “Look at her, an old sack of skin and bones, with that dark skin and flat chest. He is just so fair and beautiful. Is just a question of time, but he will get rid of her, and I will be there”.

The queen was just a bit older than her husband, and while not renowned for her beauty, she was very elegant and polite. Jaime quite liked her, but none of that mattered to Cersei.

“The king cannot annul his marriage to her, you know that.” Actually, he could. The Faith of the Seven was laughed at for bowing to the whims of the Targaryens for any reason, and a barren queen – as far as he heard – was a good enough reason.   
  


“He would had sent her far away for the northern bitch, and take the other as queen. It should have been me.”

“But it was not” Jaime teased her a little “Maybe Lyanna Stark was more beautiful than you?”.

She wasn’t. No one was more beautiful than Cersei. It was just a fact - his sister’s green eyes, golden hair and hourglass body was unmatched. The Stark girl could be considered beautiful, but Cersei was more.

“Don’t be ridiculous. That long-faced wildling probably just jumped into his bed like a harlot. That is what everybody thinks. Now that she is out of the way, is only natural he seeks an allegiance with father, and more pleasing company…”. Cersei smiled seductively and curled her finger around her beautiful golden hair.

Jaime watched her dumbstruck. _Dawn, she is so beautiful, smiling like this._

“Sir Jaime!!!”. Great, he is here with his sister instead of focusing in his duties as a kingsguard. Hence, Sir Barristan had to search for him.

“Sorry, sir”. Jaime apologized, and hurried to join his brothers in the council meeting room.

“Sadly, we lost two of our brothers in Dorne, so until we replace then we will have to compensate for it”. Said Oswell Whent, the new commander. “You will need to keep guard for princess Rhaenys, Lannister, while Darry….”. Jaime stopped listening. That was what being kingsguard was all about: guard doors for annoying little toddlers. He wanted to be like the Sword of the Morning, and now he was, and it was a bore.

“Are you listening, Kingslayer?”. The knight admonished him sternly.

Jaime smirked bitter. “As always, Sir.”.

It was no lie; he never listens. The others took to call him Kingslayer, and Jaime tried not to let it get to him. But in his heart he felt wronged; they had no right to call him that after doing the right thing. The same thing his brothers should have done a long time ago, but none had the courage.

_I did what you couldn’t. Despise me if you want, but my mind is at peace._

“A new member accepted to become one of us now that Rhaegar is in power. After years of asking, the man finally relented.” Sir Jonothor Darry spoke proudly.

That peaked Jaime’s interest, who could be?

“Brynden Tully will arrive shortly to take Prince Lewyn’s place. I can’t think of a better addition, can you?”

_Brynden Tully… The Black Fish_. He could not think of a better addition either. The riverman was one of his childhood heroes, veteran of the war of the Nine Penny Kings and a hero of the Bloody Gate.

Still, his addition was odd. The Tullys and Arryns fought against Rhaegar in the rebellion; Brynden was more likely to receive an execution for treason than a place among the kingsguard. Unless…

“Did he want to be anointed?” Jaime asked.

“Who wouldn’t want to be anointed?” Selmy rebuked sour. “He offered himself and the king was gracious to diminish the cost of war reparations from House Tully in return.”

_A hostage…_ He realized clenching his teeth. _Brynden Tully is a fucking hostage, just like me._

“For now, we prepare the rituals for our brothers with the honors they deserve and send the bodies back to their families. I’m yet to make my mind of how we’ll never see the White Bull rounding this corridors again… Oh, seven…” Ser Oswald sighed. “Well, brothers. Our duty continues.”

*Jaime…. For all his faults, his dream were to be a kingsguard, and he took that role seriously. For better or worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Take a prince of the realm it’s high treason, for sure. And he has both good and petty reasons. But let’s try to get into the mind of this twenty year old boy who just lost all his family and friends for a moment…  
> Image here: https://www.deviantart.com/el-andyjack/art/Dawn-vs-Ice-426589325
> 
> *Jaime…. For all his faults, his dream were to be a kingsguard, and he took that role seriously. For better or worse.


	2. Aegon - A life of adventures

#### AEGON – A life of adventures.

King’s Landing - 293 AL.

Aegon liked adventures. He was a dragon and it was only natural that he travels many places and fights many battles, like his ancestors did. For now, those many places were restricted to the royal gardens, and the many battles were fought with wooden swords with the other squires, but it was something. He could not really leave the castle, it was dangerous and the guards were always watching.

Still, he walked around in armor – a miniature size one he gained from uncle Dorian - waiting for his next adventure. Father wanted him to study and read books, but that was boring. Rhaenys liked it; she stayed all day in the library if allowed. But Rhaenys was not a real dragon. She was his sister, but uncle Viserys said she was a ‘filthy dornish’. Uncle Viserys was mean and stupid, for his mother and himself were also dornish and none of them were filthy. But Rhaenys was always so dull, and didn’t have the hair and eyes of the Targaryens, so perhaps she wasn’t really a dragon.

The kingsguard were in the training field and Aegon quickly run to join them. It was evident that he was not a natural fighter - he tired easily and could barely keep his breath steady after a few strikes. Mother said that she too tired easily at times. Still, he trained hard and wanted to be able to hold himself on the battlefield when the time came.

“My prince, are you feeling well today? Ready for some swordplay?”. Sir Barristan smiled at him. All the kingsguards and the people of the castle in general liked their cheery prince.

And Aegon liked them. Very much.

“Yes!! I want to practice with lance today - try to fight like uncle Oberyn.” He replied joyous.

“Alright, your grace, let’s try. Better you start with Jaime, I will fetch a lance for myself.” Sir Barristan said walking away. Aegon headed to Jaime, the blond tall Lannister man everybody referred as Kingslayer.

Despite the inglorious moniker, Jaime was pretty cool, just a little snobbish sometimes.

“Are you ready, my prince?” Jaime smirked, spinning the lance around. “I will not go easy on you.”.

Aegon fetch a lance for himself and tried to imitate the spinning he saw “Let’s do it!”

Regardless of Jaime’s warning, he did went easy on him.

___________________________________________

After the training Aegon met his family for lunch. Thankfully, uncle Viserys was far away from here, in Dorne with his fiancée, his own cousin Arianne Martell. Therefore, he sat next to father.

“Did you finish reading the book the maester ordered, Egg?”. Dammit, why Dany had to remember him that?

He sensed his father and mother looking at him. He had no choice, but to lie.

“Of course, I am looking for another one already. Any suggestions?” There, that would deviate attention. He smiled nonchalantly for his family.

“Liar, the book was in High Valyrian to begin with, and you don’t know how to read half of it”. Rhaenys had to be the smart mouth. _She and Dany are together in this, they always are._ In all their gatherings they sit next to each other, and even wore similar dresses and those stupid looking braids in the same fashion. Just like an organized mafia.

“Aegon, you should focus more in your studies, what kind of Targaryen prince doesn’t know High Valyrian?” His mother chastised him severely. It was not completely true, he knew a great deal of the language, just not enough. Studying those books only made him sleepy, he preferred to spend time with his friends and to learn asking questions, instead of sitting around reading.

“But mom, who cares? Nobody speaks it anymore.”

“That’s very short sighted of you, Egg, there are thousands of people across the Narrow Sea that speaks Valyrian – or a version of it - as their first language.” Great, now his father was disappointed too.

“Leave Aegon alone, all of you. He is training very hard everyday, the instructors are proud of him”. His grandmother smiled sweetly. And that is why she just got elected his favorite girl for the day.

“That is not the case mother. Aegon is the crown prince, not only a knight. He has other duties other than practice, and innumerous subjects to learn.”. His father turned to him. “Join with me later in the library Egg, we will try to work something in valyrian.”

_________________________________________

“What’s your problem? Leave me alone.” He barely left the dine room and his sister and aunt were already behind him.

“Still angry at me? It was just a book, Egg, stop this childish pouting.”

Those two were together against him, it was annoying. If only he had a brother to counterattack them with…

“You stop it, Dany! You did it on purpose. It’s your fault my father will held me hostage for the whole afternoon. You knew I didn’t read it, why talk about it?”. He yelled then turned his back and kept walking. The two insisted on following him.

“It’s you who should be ashamed for not doing your duties, little brother, leave Dany out of this.”. Rhaenys was three years older, and she made sure he never forgets it with her ‘little brother’ bits.

“Whatever.” He mumbled.

“I hope to marry an intelligent and competent husband in the future. Not some donkey in two legs.”

Aegon shivered at the prospective. It was inevitable, he would have to marry Rhaenys in the future, they were Targaryens and keep the bloodline pure was important. Even if his sister didn’t look like one.

“I don’t want to marry my brother. The septa said is wrong.” Dany commented nervous. She had the habit of stroking her left braid whenever she became nervous, but Aegon didn’t know what to say to calm her.

“You won’t, don’t worry. Uncle Viserys will wed another soon.” Rhaenys assured her. “But you shouldn’t listen these stuck-up septas. We are Targaryens, so these rules don’t apply to us.”. His aunt muttered an unconvinced _Okay_ and they kept going.

Eventually Rhae came up with an idea worthy of their endeavors.

“Do you know what I was thinking? That dessert was really good, I am sure they have more in the kitchen. Perhaps we should set up an operation to ‘rescue’ them. What do you think?”

Aegon beamed. Rhaenys often had good plans. Yes, those two were annoying, but they could be really fun sometimes. He loved them.

___________________________________________

He procrastinated as long as he was able, but eventually he went to meet father in the library. Arthur Dayne, the ever loyal kingsguard was at the door, so Aegon greeted him before entering.

“Hello, Arthur.” He addressed the man, who was like an uncle to him. “Is dad angry yet?”. Sir Arthur sniggered at the question.

“Angry? Nah, he don’t feel the time passing when he buries his nose in those dusted scrolls. You should be fine.”

He laughed at his jape. People commented how his grandmother must have swallowed books and a candle while she was pregnant for her son to read so much. Nevertheless, his father was known to be a great warrior, who had won jousts and emerged victorious in battle. In his turn, Aegon was supposed to follow his steps. The thought afflicted him a little bit; such standards were too high.

He entered and found the king sitting in his desk amidst some old scrolls, writing annotations of his own in a parchment by the side. His cheek and long silver hair had some ink stains in them, and he was so absorbed in his reading that Egg remained unnoticed.

“Wanted to see me father?”. Rhaegar lifted his hair startled, then relaxed upon the sight of his son. He signed to a chair nearby, so Aegon picked it and brought it to the table, sitting in front of the scrolls.

“Oh yes, I got lost in time I’m afraid.” Father said organizing his scrolls, in order to open some space for Aegon. “Now that you are here, let’s try to improve your High Valiryan. Maybe start with some poetry…”

Aegon sighed. That would be a long afternoon.

They spent a couple of hours with love poetries, historic ones and some about the tales of heroes of old. Those last ones were his favorites. Such tales depicted the great deeds of ancient valyrian warriors, who fought all kind of mystical creatures in their magical armors, while traveling on dragon back like it suited a dragonlord. Aegon felt pride of being a valyrian as well, belonging to one of the last bloodlines of dragonlords in the world. However, there was one problem, he thought gloomily.

“Dad, if we are the blood of the dragons, where are our dragons? I don’t understand…”. Since he was a small child people told him he was the blood of the dragon, but Egg had never even seen a dragon egg before. He didn’t feel much like one.

“They disappeared from the world, nobody knows why. I told you already.”. Rhaegar tried to dismiss the question.

“But you said I would bring the dragons back, awake them from stone. I need at least eggs for it, but we have naught.”. He insisted sulky. His father stopped mentioned about such things a long time ago. Still, Aegon remembered from when he was little.

Father shook his head and passed his hand through his hair. “Son please, I know what I said, but don’t dwell on it. You were very young, and I was caught in my own obsession. Dragons are gone, and last I heard of a dragon egg, it was destroyed in the fire of Sumerhall when I was born.”.

_What is the worth of dragon blood without dragons?_ He reasoned and found none. Without their house sigil Targaryens were not the same as before, like Aegon the Conquerer was. He wanted to continue, but it was not the first time he discuss such thing with his father and ended up frustrated. Father didn’t know either, that is why he read so much probably. 

Aegon choose to let go of the subject, yet there was other thing bothering him, and now seemed a good time to confess. 

“Dad, I am trying to learn how to fight, trying really hard, but I think I never will be good at it.”

He stared Aegon confused “Arthur told me you were progressing well enough.”

“That’s because they don’t expect much of me, none of them do. They try to hide it but I know.”. Egg wanted his father angry, or at least surprised that the prince wasn’t being trained properly. But his father’s expression gave him away; he already knew.

“Oh. Don’t worry about it, Aegon. There is more in a king than martial prowess. In fact, is the least important attribute in the art of ruling; if you want to bring peace and prosperity to the realm, you’ll need charisma, competence, intelligence and modesty… Those you have aplenty.”

“But how will I defeat the long night if I can’t fight? You once told me I have a great battle to face, I am the promised one, but I don’t know how I be able to do it…”. There he was again. His father looked at him exasperated and sighed.

“Egg, I... I don’t know. Prophecies are tricky and I learned that it is not worth to chase after them. I don’t want that for you. Just do you best, I assure you that’s enough”.

Aegon did not want to hear that. His father told him, when he were very little, that he would save the world, bring the dragons back and gain glory for his house. Mother always got angry when she heard father taking about those things, but Aegon liked it. Didn’t father trust him any longer?

Frustrated once again in the conversation, the prince just accepted the suggestion. “Okay. I will do my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Rhaegar told his son that he was ‘the prince that was promised’, and those words Aegon kept in his heart forever. His father tried to snap him out of it, but Aegon was convinced. He is a dreamer in his own way (Rhaegar was one too), and the belief that he is the prince of the prophecy will shape a lot of what will happen to him.


	3. Jon - Mutant eggs / Eddard - The gall of these...

#### JON – Mutant eggs.

North - 295 AL.

This is exciting! Jon was walking around in the North for two whole days and having the time of his life. Sometimes he did that: pack his stuff, get a horse and leave the fortress to explore the surroundings, but never for so long or so far away. It would only be better if Robb was with him, but not for long – Jon needed his alone time.

_Father must be worried._

Bah. He didn’t care. Father just stood around doing a bunch of nothings while his hag of a wife pestered him. Jon was a bastard anyway, right? Hence, he can do whatever he wants. Yeah, that sounds good for him.

Sometimes it could get dangerous, but Jon was smart enough to hide well and evade it. Like now. These tracks ahead of him meant that a pack of wolfs passed through here recently, towards the dense forest. Better to stick to the path near the cliffs. On the other hand, perhaps it was better to return home. He was away from two days already and wanted to keep going, but his provisions were scarce: there was no more bread or cheese, just some dry meat, and a couple of leftover arrows from his encounter with a bear. The bear was a small one, Jon was at a safe distance on top of a tree and used his bow to scare the best away, however if it happened again there would be not enough arrows. _I should definitely go back._

He didn’t have time to turn the horse, when a sensation overcame him. It was like a pull towards something or a reverberation of sheer will, which was asking him to come closer. If Jon could translate that feeling into words, it would sound like **_“We are here”_** or ** _“Come find us”._**

He looked in his surroundings and found no one. Neither he ought to, since there were no sounds, just an urge reaching to him, warming his chest. Where this was coming from? It made him uncomfortable; they felt desperate.

**_“Family”_**. That’s what he perceived; a sensation like that among family. Or it was **_“hope”_**? Hard to say…

He must be going crazy. Jon could do some strange things, things that he never told anyone. Sensing foreign feelings was new. Nevertheless, before he could dwell on it he found it: a wide entrance just ahead in the cliffs. Whoever is playing with him must be inside that cave.

_Could it be a sorcerer? What do I do if it is a sorcerer? That traveler told us about sorcerers, but I had not believed him_. Jon regretted having laughed at the peddler stories in the halls of Winterfell, if only he had listen he would know what to do. Fighting a sorcerer was probably not a very good idea, but just a little peak and he could bring information back to father.

He tied his horse to a tree and left most of his belongings in the saddlebag. _Just the canteen and the sword will have to make it._ The entrance was high in the ravine, he had to climb around five times his height in order to make it. Jon used the vines and roots sprouting from the earth to pull himself up, being careful to grab firmly and test if it would support his weight. Around four meters high, one of the vines let loose and Jon almost fell, holding himself just in time into another. He looked down to see if anyone suddenly decided to appear - and witnessed his scared girlish shriek - but there was only his horse, silently judging him.

“Stop that! What I am doing is not stupid, aye?” He informed his horse, but the beast neighed, laughing at his face.

“It’s not! I know climbing ravines without a rope or someone to aid sound stupid but…” He didn’t know how to continue. “You know what? Mind your business, nosy mule..”. That blasted horse would still judge him no matter what; better keep climbing.

He finally reached the entrance and only encountered a huge and wide cavern, with nothing but rubble. It could be a den, but was too clean: no bones, no rests of food or dung, nothing. There wasn’t even a place for someone to hide, for all the rock formations were broken, as if a huge thing had walked around and shattered everything in its path. Jon explored a bit, but as far as he could tell all the work had been for naught.

**_“Closer, closer”._ **

That pull again… “Where are you?”. The cave echoed his question, but he found himself all alone. _In the corner, I feel something in there._ He went to one extreme of the cavern and dug in the dirt.

_Nothing, more to the side._

After a few tries, he found them: two eggs, one dark blue and another golden. Beautiful and… big, the size of two palms of his hand, more or less. Or could be strange rocks, since they were hard as stone. However, his instinct screamed it was eggs, stone-like ones, with tiny scales and warm to the touch. _They must be from some huge, weird hen._

**_“Family”_** He sensed that nice feeling again, followed by something hotter and wilder: ** _“fire”._**

“Hey, hey! What are you? Are ye tryin’ to tell me somethin’?” He asked the egg, shaking as if trying to force an answer.

Gods, he was talking to eggs. Nobody would never know, he rather death. If Theon… No, it was too horrible of a thought.

The longing stopped. They seemed content now; Jon felt their happiness. Well, finders keepers, it was his eggs from now on, and they would be very well hidden in his room.

Jon stood on the edge of the cliff trying to find a way to get down with the two eggs. They were hard like stone, so maybe he could just drop them down there without cracking. Be that as is may, he lacked the courage to test his theory. He took of his undershirt, and strapped the eggs with the fabric, to be safe.

In the way down, Jon committed the same mistake with the same bloody vine that had caused him problems before. This time there was no saving, and Jon fell four meters, landing on top of his arm. For his luck, he managed to grab some of the vines along the fall, so the impact wasn’t so severe, yet his arm hurt like hell, and he couldn’t move it. _Seven hells_ , he thought, tears falling due the pain, _it’s broken._

_Dad… I want father…_

The horse scooted closer and bumped his shoulder with its muzzle. _I told you_ , the horse seemed to tell him. Jon climbed on his back, doing his best to overcome the pain; he needed to be stronger than ever, it would be a long ride back to Winterfell.

* * *

#### EDDARD – The gall of these brats.

Winterfell - 295 AL.

Ned walked out of maester Luwin’s chamber with Jon, whose broken arm had just being bandaged, thinking about what to do with the brat. That little sod tended to steal any weapons, food and horses he could get his hands on and vanish a whole day, especially when trying to escape punishment for something he have done. No amount of scouts could track the boy down when he pulled that stunt. This time it was two days, and Ned had been on the brink of a panic attack.

When Sir Rodrick notified him that his son returned, Eddard was ready to lock him in a tower and throw away the key, but the boy was ahead of him, again, holding that blasted broken arm. Jon just looked at him in pain and tearful, with those big pale grey eyes - _silver, Lyanna’s eyes_ \- and Ned forgot all his anger.

At the end of the corridor Jon turned left, intending to go to his room, but Ned stopped him on is track.

“Not so fast, Jon. We are going to the study” The boy open his mouth to reply, but Eddard didn’t give him a chance. “Now.” He ordered impatient.

They entered the room and Jon took a seat near the desk, head down to his lap. He was still numb after traveling a long way by himself with a broken arm - a traumatic experience for a twelve year old. His escapades would have to stop, but Ned didn’t know how to do so. He had already tried to punish, threaten, withhold food and time with his friends… Nothing worked.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was?” He started, but his son refused to talk and barely looked at him. “Jon, I am talkin’ to you.”

Jon raised his head and mumbled softly. “A lot…”

“Aye, a lot. Are you tryin’ to send me to the rest in the crypts so soon? What was going on in your head to disappear for two days?” His voice was like iron, even so the boy wasn’t intimidated.

“I was having fun.” He stated sullen;

“ ’Tis your excuse?” The boy shrugged and Ned felt his ire building once again. “Jon, I am asking you, don’t make me repeat it, why do you left this time?”

His son glared at him full of anguish, and for some reason he didn’t want to know anymore. “Lady Stark is planning an event for Sansa’s nameday, and she told me to go the hell away because it was not proper for someone like me to be at the party. I went with Robb to help her, but she ordered that I stay out of her sight.” The boy blatted out in one breath.

His heart tightened a bit upon noticing his son sadness. He was ware his wife was organizing a small party for Sansa, in which some of his bannerman’s families would come to celebrate. They didn’t threw many gatherings, but when they did Catelyn made sure to keep Jon at bay, the same way she was probably doing now. Jon’s distant nature helped her with that. _Melancholic, some would call it, the same way Rhaegar is melancholic._

In fact, as much he wanted to get rid of the Targaryens - Rhaegar Targaryen in special - Jon took much after his sire. His high and sharp cheekbones, angular features, straight nose, the shape of the jaw, the lean figure - it was all from the king. Gladly, he inherited Lyanna’s eyes and hair, black and straight, her mouth and frown, and her pale skin - _the last one_ _which also could have come from his father actually_. His personality was much of the same, for Jon had a knack to exceed in anything he put his mind on. A long time ago, when Rhaegar was still the overprized silver princeling, Ned also heard rumors of the prince’s ability to be good at everything – boring and annoying perfect, Brandon called him – with a predilection to play the harp and sing, the last one a trait Jon shared. That impetuousness and obstinacy, however, was all his sister.

His reflections gave him an idea how to coerce the boy, who was still scowling in silence. “Jon, I’ve thinking about your own nameday, which in nearing, and about a proper gift for you.” That peeked the boy’s interest. “What do you think about a harp? I can get you one; and a teacher to give you some lessons.”.

Jon got up and quickly stood in front of him, all the pain in his arm forgotten. “Like the bards who came here?”

“Aye, just like them. You like to sing, and a harp is a good instrument for any singer.”

His son beamed and leaned over the table, wiggling his body in excitement. “It’s a great gift! The best of all! When can I have it?”.

“There are conditions,” Ned stated harshly and Jon backed away, suspicious, waiting his father to proceed. “I don’t want you leavin’ Winterfell without informing anyone, and not for longer than a few hours. Never again. If you do, you can forget about the harp. Do you understand?”

He could try to bribe Jon with other passions of his like riding, reading, eating sweets and training swordmanship. However, a harp was unique and easy to confiscate if the boy disobeyed. Jon contemplated his options, and unsurprisingly tried to bargain the deal.

“Two weeks only.” He pronounced with authority, a smug expression in his face.

“What do you mean?” Eddard asked confused.

“You take the harp away for two weeks only, if I disobey. Not forever. ‘Tis my condition.” Jon explained, his nose even higher than before.

_What basically means he does intend to disobey. Brat._

Before he could cut Jon of his insolence, they heard a soft knock in the door. Robb entered ahead of any invitation, and took a sit next to his brother, as if he had any right to be in there. His messy auburn hair and pelt cloak were covered with snow, meaning he came directly from the outside, and there was mud in the boots that left prints in his way to the room. He pondered if he should make his son clean his mess before or after he finished his business with his brother. _Insolence is spreading like the plague._

“Is it still hurtin’?” Robb asked Jon poking the bandaged arm, totally ignoring Eddard.

“Not so much.” Jon answered, suddenly aware of his arm again.

“Are you too tired or can you play now?” The red-head boy pleaded to his brother hopeful. “I wanted to build that fort you talked about, and then we can call more boys in Winter Town and try to attack it. I was waiting for you.”

Robb was the one who nag him the most when Jon did his little escapes, followed by Arya. Both of them relying on their brother to pull pranks and play outside, mostly because Jon had no problems to break the rules so they could get into any mischiefs they wanted.

“Sure, I can play. Maester Luwin says I only have to be careful with my arm, but I can do everythin’. I will be the one in charge of the fort, ‘cause ‘twas my idea. We need weapons and armor! And then you can lead one group and I another, but I don’t want Willy in mine…”. Jon restrained his scheming and turned to his father, remembering why he was there. “But first I have to discuss the terms for my present.” He explained to his brother serious.

The absurdity of going from punishing his son to gifting him not lost on Ned. _Catelyn will bleat with no end._

Tired of being overruled and ignored by the two little impertinent rascals, Eddard decided enough was enough.

“ _You_ are going to your room think about what you’ve done. One month grounded, no plays, no fun.” He told Jon, who opened his big silver eyes wide mortified, then turned to Robb. “And _you_ will clean the floor you soiled in mud, and then you will look for Septa Mordane and ask her for a lesson about entering rooms in which you haven’t been invited to”.

The boys began their winning but Eddard was resolute, he had his fill for the day. He rose and led them out until was interrupted by Jon who wiggled out of his hold. “What about my present?” He questioned outraged.

“You will get it on my terms. Now get out.”. Ned shoved them out before Jon could protest some more, and locked it sighing with relief. _Finally some peace and quiet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I didn’t want to write Jon as the bookish sort, but as I advanced in this story I had to come back and change it. For he to succed in Essos, he had to be learned.
> 
> *The first time I wrote this charpter, I just had Ned give money to Jon. Then I realized it was not something Ned Stark would do. Then as I wrote about Jon’s appereance, this idea came that Ned attreling the boy’s looks with the father’s tastes and that’s how harp playing happened. For now Jon is becoming too much like his father, and I am not so fond of that, but the harp-playing and singing thing will be useful later. And hilarious.


	4. Robb - To become a man. / Jon - How to wet a...

#### ROBB – To become a man.

Winterfell - 298 AL. (beginning of the year)

Today he would do it. He would finally do it, whatever it takes. Nobody would stop him. He would enter there and lose his virginity. It was a serious matter indeed, for Robb was supposed to marry soon with Lady Alys Karstark, and he refused to be a maid in his marital bed. He was only fourteen, but Theon had already lost his virginity one year ago, while Robb nothing.

Jon… Jon didn’t count, he was odd. But Robb was the eldest sibling - the heir - so this was unacceptable.

He convinced Jon to accompany him to the local brothel in Wintertown, where he would finally get this over with. He fooled around with Alys a bit – and got caught, hence the reason why he was to wed her soon – however he had tasted nothing of the real thing yet. A lot of his father’s soldiers visited the brothel regularly - even his uncle Brandon was said to have a taste for the ladies company - so he reasoned there was no basis for him not to do the same.

“Are you sure ‘bout this?”. Jon didn’t want to be here, that was clear. Since when they enter the whorehouse he’d been looking everywhere with disgust. He would remain right here though, Robb needed him here for… brotherly support.

“I have to. It’s time to become a man”.

“Ridiculous”. Jon sneered.

“I know, I shouldn’t have to pay for it, but it will be easier.”. Ought to be easy, whores knew their trade, and Robb might learn something and not pass for a fool in his wedding night. Also, some of the girls he seen so far were very appealing, surely the one the Madam would provide him would be pretty as well.

“No that.”. His brother replied impatient. “ _You_. You are ridiculous. Why the hell you have to plough a wench to be a man?”

“What I am supposed to tell Alys when we marry, Jon? ‘Darlin’, can you please explain to me where to put it?’ “. He made his best wimp voice for extra effect. “Never. I am the man, the guide. Theon told me this would give me respect”.

_I heard so many things can go wrong in the first time with a woman. Can’t take that risk. Jon would understand if he wasn’t so numb around girls._

“Theon… Yeah, what a man... _So_ respected. He has everything figured out, all right”. Jon’s sarcasm trademark never failed to provoke him, but he had a point. “Don’t tell me you have no idea where to put it.”

“It’s a figure of speech Jon, damn… If you don’t have anythin’ helpful to say then shut ya hole already.”. He admonished his annoying cynic brother. Only Robb could possibly understand how important this was for his wedding.

_What if she laughs at me? What if I disappoint her? Or worse, what if she cries? It can be painful for girls… Gods, please, don’t let her cry…_

The Madam entered the hall conducting a girl, short, lean and pretty, displaying a big cleavage that left few for imagination. She grinned seductively to them, and strode towards his direction swaying her hips. Robb’s throat closed in fear and anticipation.

“Oh, you’re a pretty one. How ‘bout we go to a room and talk a lil’ bit?”. The whore came straight to Jon.

No surprises there, Robb was decent looking, he suppose, but Jon was something else. He always had been pretty, too pretty for a boy or for any normal human being, and lately he was growing fast. Girls were trying to get his attention all the time, with no results because his brother was dense as a brick. What a waste.

“Talk ‘bout what? How many cocks you sucked this month?”

Robb winced. His brother could be called many things: beautiful, smart, driven, talented… But he had the courtesy and politeness of a stray rabid dog.

The whore didn’t shy away from his brashness.

“Oh, I’m good at it too, love. Me tongue can do magic, want me to show ye?”. She licked her lips and tried to snake her hand in his brother’s chest.

_Oh, woaw, this is the one. Must get her attention before Jon snap at the girl._

“Actually, I am the one here for some… good time”. Ugh, cringey, he sounded like the virgin he was. His brother must have thought the same by his amused snort. “Perhaps you can assist me?”

The whore backed off Jon and approached him, satisfied with his interest. “And who are you, sweetie?”

“Robb Stark”. She immediately widened her eyes. It was not every day one of such girls get a turn with the heir of Winterfell himself.

“Oh, I am sorry milord, didn’t recognize you. I am not from ‘tis bands, understand…”. He really didn’t care, but some lords took offence for not being recognized by their subjects. “First time here?”

“Yeah, something like it.”.

Only time here actually, because Alys was the one, he knew in his heart. He would follow his father example and honor his wife, not shame her – and himself – fooling around with other women. Eddard Stark never strayed from his mother’s bed, and was respected for it. Well, except for… He aimed a glance a little guilty at his brother.

“I see. It will be a pleasure milord, you’ll see.” She smiled wickedly and walked ahead to the corridor. “Please, follow me.”.

“I will remain around, Robb,” Jon stated, making himself comfortable in an armchair. “be here for you when you get out of the room crying.”

“Haha, fuck you Jon.”. _Asshole, I will show him…_

* * *

#### JON – How to wet a pair of pants.

He was having a hard time to swallow this bullshit. Why the hell Robb had to listen to Theon? He was the biggest loser to roam the earth. It had only been two days since Greyjoy got his dick stuck in a bottle. His father had to call an artisan to cut the leather without harming the idiot. In Jon’s opinion, it would have been better just cut his cock off, the would be granted heroic status for sparing the world of Theon’s offspring.

Now he had to sit around, in front of the Madam of the whorehouse, waiting his brother. The woman kept shooting glances at him, and it was infuriating as hell, he already informed her he was not interested in the ‘services’ of this shithole.

“If ye keep looking I’ll charge, ma’am”. The old woman straight herself indignantly and snorted, giving him a cold shoulder. _Yeah, that’s right, look away_. Why they keep looking at him?

“Jon!!”. _Well, that didn’t take long_. Robb was running down the corridor towards him, leaving a certain commotion in his track. He looked anxious, clutched Jon’s arms and hauled him out of the whorehouse, without sparing a single glance at the confused prostitutes.

“Let’s go Jon, c’mon!”. Robb was practically dragging him through Wintertown.

“What the hell? Robb stop! We are already halfway in the village. What happened?”.

“Nothin’.”.

“I knew it.” He teased victorious.

“No! It’s not that. It happened… I mean… I did… more or less…”. Jon was building some anxiety already due to his brother’s nervousness.

“More or less?”. He speculated for an answer.

“Not exactly…”

“I am damn sure I waited less than three minutes for your ass to get it done.”

“Well, she took her clothes off and… That was it.”

_That was it? What does he mean?_

“Eh?”

“That was it. Over. Done. I didn’t even have time to take my pants off”. He just stared Robb dumfounded for a moment trying to process what that meant. Then it struck him. Jon knew he shouldn’t, but it was too much. He laughed his ass off.

“HAHAHAHAHAHA”

“Stop laughing! I have a huge problem! I will marry soon…”. It was getting funnier and funnier. Robb was so flustered that he was red as a lobster. Matched with the red hair it was twice comical.

“HAHAHAHHAHAH” 

“Jon! This is serious, my pants are wet”.

_Oh… My…. Gods…._

“Stop! HAHAHAHA, stop, please! HAHAHAHAHA!”. He was trying to breath with little success. 

“Don’t tell anyone for gods’ sake!”. His brother’s glare promised a swift and cruel retaliation if anyone learn of this.

“Don’t tell what?” Theon asked out loud hurrying to catch up to them. He looked at Jon still laughing LOUDLY and his eyes twinkle with curiosity.

“Where were you?” Robb asked, although he probably knew the answer: in the Smoking Log with Kyra. The tavern wench was still at the door watching him leave, slightly blushed.

“The tavern, catching up with Kyra. That one never gets boring in the mattress.” Theon smirked smugly. _Nailed it._ “But I want to know what’s happening. What are you laughing at, Snow?”

“Nothing!” Robb answered too fast for his own good. “He is an idiot, that why he is laughing. You keep your mouth shut, Jon, not a peep!”

“Oh, brother” He was trying to say while laughing. “I would never do that to you”.


	5. Robb - Warrior or killer? / Catellyn - The burden...

#### ROBB – Warrior or killer? Is there even a difference?

Robb sited quietly in a corner, sulky, glaring daggers at that turncoat who should be his brother, who was in his turn standing in the middle of the men speaking shit. “I couldn’t even blink and Robb was already back, running away from there, scared like a cat thrown in a bathtub!!”.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH”. A collective crackling laughter filled the place, many men sitting amidst their meals, having fun at his expense.

_Goddammit_. After they returned to the castle, Jon and he sparred a bit in the training yards with Theon, Sir Rodrik and some soldiers. It didn’t take longer than the first break for a rest, and his traitor of a brother was already selling him out to everybody.

“Others take you Jon! I will get you for this.” He threatened the loudmouth weasel snake. Jon merely winked to him, not preoccupied in the slightest.

“Dinnae worry, milord. ‘Tis stuff happens first time with a woman. ‘Tis normal.”. One of his fathers most trusted warriors, Jory, was the first to break the laughter and console him.

“Yeah, I remember been so nervous I cummed and puked at the same time!”. Trendon remarked unashamed, probably drunk already.

“You just have to use the hand some time earlier and then get down on the lass.”. The old soldier knew what he was talking about, Robb mulled. Nathan was married three times already. Better save that tip for later.

“That’s tripe, Nathan! Will only make ye tired! The trick is to hold her legs up, then--”.

“Ahhh… Just talk shite this one…”

“Shush! I’m talking! Then pull your sack when ye feel it squeezing."

The men continued to offer unsolicited suggestions that made Robb want to bury his head in the snow. _Well, at least it doesn’t happen with me only._

His brother sat by his head and threw a heavy pat on his shoulder. “Sorry, Robb. You know how it is: lose a friend, but not the joke.” He didn’t look sorry at all.

“Some friend you are!” Theon mumbled amused.

“I will get you, Jon, I swear to the gods I will get you.”. And it would not be difficult, considering how much trouble Jon got himself into all the time.

“You already rat me out when I tried to peddle those old clothes I found in some random chest. Think I forgot?”

“Are you serious?” Robb replied exasperated. “Those are my mother’s dresses! And they weren’t in ‘some random chest’, it was her trunk in her bedroom.”. In fact, it was her favorite and most expensive dresses, which Jon somehow thieved from a locked trunk. Father grounded him for two weeks, but even Robb had to admit it was too light of a punishment considering how livid his mother had been.

“Well, I didn’t know that.”. His brother retorted aloof, not even concerning himself in create a better lie.

Theon scoffed, and so did Robb. “Yes, you did.”

__________________________________________

Next day,

The three of them were heading to the gates when they heard the excited call.

“Hey, wait for me!”

Robb already knew who was coming. His little sister Arya. A tiny, spirituous thing, of nine years old, with untangled hair and scrapped knee, wearing male trousers despite their mother’s best efforts.

“Arya, escaping your lessons again?” He smiled to her, it was impossible not to.

“No, septa Mordane is busy with Sansa, so she let me go.” Arya never learned to lie properly. “You are going to the woods right? Can I go with you?” She begged looking with those big grey puppy eyes at Jon. Of the three of them, Jon was the most likely to fall for her charm.

“Yes.” Came Jon’s immediate answer.

His brother fell like a duck. But Robb was not so easily fooled.

“No.”. Jon gave him a heavy frown; however Robb would not succumb to them both.

“Robb! I want to go!”. She raged, stomping a little foot in the ground.

“He said no, girl, you should go back and try to sew somethin’.” That earned Theon a murderous glare from Jon.

“I don’t see any problem in bringing her along.”. His brother ignored Theon, and focused on Robb.

“It doesn’t matter what you think, bastard. The heir say no, you obey.” Jon slitted his eyes and clenched his fists, losing his cool. _Okay, this is getting dangerous_. Jon knew very well he was a bastard, but hated being reminded of that. If Theon continues to provoke him, he would be punched. Again.

Then Jon would laugh. Again.

And Theon would whine to his father. Again.

And father would reprimand him, instead of Jon, for doing nothing.

Again.

“Enough!” He shouted before things get out of hand. “Arya, mother got very angry last time, said we were helping you evade your lessons, and that ain’t right. Do you want to get us in trouble?”

“No…” His little sister mumbled, staring at her feet.

“Then please go back.” She glared at him for a while expecting he would change his mind, then groaned giving up.

“Fine…” She immediately hugged Jon while pouting at him “Until soup, Jon.”

“Until soup, she-rascal.” His brother replied fondly.

Jon was not treated kindly by everyone in the fortress. His mother and eldest sister, Sansa, were particularly nasty. Thankfully, Arya was different. And so were Bran and Rickon, his younger brothers.

“So where are we going first? North or East?” Theon inquired after she left. His best description would be cocky as a peacock without feathers, but he was really good with the bow, and liked hunting.

“North, I figure there is good game around those parts.” He decided.

“Wait, north? Is a long way.” Jon grew anxious all of the sudden. Strange behavior from him, who wandered around so much on his own. If to read, hunt or just brood alone, Robb was not certain.

“Worried, Jon?”. He teased his brother.

“Never”. The answer came fast, but the concerned look remained on his brother’s face.

___________________________________________ 

The path seemed calm. They walked around three kilometers before arriving to the spot. _Better save the horses strength for the amount of game they would bring back_ , Robb thought smugly.

Then, something was wrong…

“Do you hear that?”. Jon was the first to vocalize his concern.

“What are you-…”

“Look at this, blatterheads.”. Mocked a deep voice from their side. Around five wildlings emerged out of the woods, all them dirty and ragged, but well armed. Their leader, a hairy beast in leathers, wore a toothless grin aimed at Robb. “It seems we have some pansy southlings to greet us.”

“Fancy clothes, these young’uns…”. These one who spoke was a woman, the only one in that group it seemed, and she was gawking marveled at Jon. “Nice mug too, think we could take ’em with us?”.

Robb blink and focus on remembering how to breathe. That was not good. They left without any guards and there was no one to help in sight. They had brought weapons, but there were too many of them. Robb had to think fast…

“You could try, you saggy sow”. His dumbfuck brother taunted the same woman who could instigate their deaths. 

_Oh no, not now Jon, calm that temper_.

“Feisty!” Another wildling laughed. ”Like ‘im hein Rosha? Me too, is prettier than my wives”. The said man was even bigger than their leader.

“Let’s stop this nonsense.” He poised himself straight and proud, disgusted over the conversation about his brother. “I am Robb Stark, heir of Winterfell, my father is lord of these lands. You should not be here. But if we reach an agreement I will allow you to pass through without repercussion”.

Gods, he sounded like a pussy, but this was not the time for heroic stupidity.

“HAHAHAHA lil’ lording hein? Think we give a dog’s fart about yer southland titles, boy? afree folk have no titles.” The leader mocked him.

Maybe he could bribe them? There should be enough coin in his purse…

_You idiot_. He ruminated. _They can just kill you and take whatever they want._

“We could take ’em, Gennor”. Rosha clutched the leader’s arms. “We could use ’em… If he is son of their kneeler lord, we would be safe.”

“Shut ye puss, you daft wench!” The oldest of the group roared back at her, causing the woman to move to the corner, all the sass she had before gone. If this man held so much influence, then Robb had to tried to convince him. “Ye only speak shite! We kill ‘tis bawbags and be don’ with it!.”

Gods… The fear was building in his stomach, reaching his heart. _Think fast, think fast…._

“Common, Gennor!” The big bloke of a man from before japed again. “Not the pretty one, I could use a tussle in the bushes. My hands are gettin’ tired.”

Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, Robb saw Rosha grasp and fall to the ground with an arrow pierced in her throat. Theon had seized the opportunity, while they were distracted, and shot. It only took a brief moment for the wildlings realize what happened.

“THEON! WHAT THE FUCK!”

The wildling were on them, Robb draw the sword and start to defend himself against their leader, Gennor. In the corner of his vision he could see Theon holding his one against another one, but not Jon.

Gennor was strong and wielded a strange makeshift club, covered with spikes. Robb was well trained, even young he hold himself well in the training sessions with ser Rorik, but was not prepared for that. There was bloodlust in the eyes of the wildling. Robb tried, he continue to parry the man’s attacks and evade some others with the best of his abilities. _Left, Right, Down, Left, Jump, Back_. His biggest concern was for the other wildlings who would join Gennor in the fight, Robb was barely holding against one of them. He waited but they didn’t appear.

Robb ducked an attack from the right, and used the opening to make a slash to the man’s unguarded side. All from nothing, his sword only made a small tear in the warrior’s leather armor. Enraged, the man kicked him in the chest and Robb fell laid back on the ground. He was going to die…

And then, the wildling cough blood, and Robb saw the sword cross his chest. His enemy fell. Was it over already? What happened?

Jon stuck his sword in the thigh of the men fighting Theon. While the men screamed in pain and surprise, his brother sliced his throat with a dagger. Cold and effective, like if he did that all the time.

The silence characteristic of the dead reached them.

“What was that?” Theon asked as dumbfounded as Robb.

“Me, saving your life. You are welcome.” Jon answered nonchalantly.

“Da hell! I saw you! You killed them.” All the wildlings were dead on the ground, six bodies…

“Oh no, Theon, I fell and my sword kinda hitted them, ya know? Of course I killed them! Why? Prefer to have died and spared their innocent lives, is it?”

“Stop being dense, how did you do it? There were five of them, and you just…” Exactly. How? Jon was good with a sword. Very good. So much in fact that Robb was certain he would be a kingsguard one day, even if their father disapproved that idea. But this was another level.

This was cold. Professional.

Something was wrong...

“How? Easy, you stick with the pointy end. Now let’s go, I am sick of it.” Before he took two steps, Jon paused and turned to him with a worried expression. “Robb, are you okay? Did he get you?”

Robb took a moment longer than necessary to process the question, still startled by the events. “Ahh, yes… Aye, I am fine. You killed him before… Well, before he could get me.”

“You held yourself well, that wildling was a tough brute. Next time only dodge his attacks, don’t block them, and aim for the head.” Jon became thoughtful for a moment and glanced at the bodies he killed. “We shouldn’t have come, I dr-“ He stopped himself, which thwarted Robb to no end, he wanted to know what his brother was hiding. But Jon did not give him a chance to ask. “Don’t matter. Let’s go then, we already hunted enough”.

* * *

#### CATELLYN – The burden of a wife and mother.

_That bastard was causing trouble once more_ , Cat thought while scouring the fortress looking for her husband. Last month he set some stables on fire, again. Then he broke the arms of two of Lord Hanys Hornwood’s sons for something the boys said. Soon after, Ned had to put guards to chase after him, because he disappeared a whole week while seeking to become a pirate in White Harbor.

_Shame he didn’t make it and got away from here._

Now he was dragging Robb to whorehouses, trying to disgrace her son. Her lady in waiting had just come to her with this recent village gossip. _That bloody bastard from the depths of hell._

Sometimes it seems that the only purpose of Jon Snow in this life is to provoke her. Ever since her husband brought his bastard to be raised in the company of her trueborn children, he has been nothing but a nuisance. Mannerless, rude and aggressive - especially towards her. Beautiful, intelligent and delightfull when he wanted, even as a small child.

_He could be yours as well, if you had accepted him as a babe_. The disturbing idea creped in her thoughts as sometimes it did over the years. _Now he hates you._ She shushed it out of her mind, it would lead her nowhere.

Cat knew what people commented in the keep. They talked about how the bastard of Winterfell could sing, fight and ride a horse, how he hunted and explored in the woods, how he would become a great warrior one day, how he was a son any father would be proud of. The boy was starting to become a man, and in the past few months he had grown a lot and attracted even more attention of the silly maidens. Jon had the Stark coloring - dark hair and grey eyes - but was unusually beautiful, tall and lean, unlike Ned. Whoever his mother was, she must had been a remarkable sight. It was rumored to be Ashara Dayne, the most beautiful woman in the seven kingdoms.

Every single aspect of him angered her.

“Ned!!!”. She found him in the godswood, in deep reflection gazing the pound.

“Catelyn. What is it? Something with the children?”. He asked worried, but Catelyn huffed at his question. Her children were good and behaved, they were not the problem. His bloody bastard was.

“Your bastard again, what else?”

“Not now, Catelyn.” Ned sounded exasperated, and averted his eyes from her back to the pound of the goodswood.

“No, Ned. He is plotting something, trying to disgrace Robb, your heir. He had taken to drag him to brothels.” His lack of interest irritated her even more.

“Cat, Jon is difficult but he never forces Robb into nothing, or harms him in any way. If Robb went to a brothel, he wanted it.”

“He is going to marry anytime soon, and the bastard is trying to ruin the wedding, I know it”.

“No, he is not. Robb forced this wedding when he got caught in that compromising situation with Lord Karstark’ daughter. He is just in that age, Brandon was the same”.

There he was again, protecting his bastard. Cat wanted to dig in the reason why he shielded Jon Snow so much, was it guilt? Because the boy didn’t have a mother, or didn’t have the Stark name maybe. Or worse, was it preference? Did he favor him over her children?

“But-…” Her husband cut her in.

“I will talk to Robb. Leave Jon out of it. At least in this I know he is innocent”.

“You’re always defending him. This has to stop. He causes to many problems, and it’s time to set him on his own path. It’s time to send him to the Wall, to be with your brother.” She insisted.

“I will not talk about this again. Jon is not going to the Wall, Cat.”

“It’s a great place for someone of his bir-“ Her husband interrupted her again, it was usually like that when the conversation was about Jon Snow. 

“Enough, Catellyn. I’m the Lord here or have you forgot?”. Hard steel eyes, like the North itself, stared at her. Ned was always respectful and loving to his wife – she loved him once she discover the good hearth beneath that hard visage - but Cat feared in the rare times he lose his patience. “We have more important matters to worry about. Here”. He handed her a little scroll.

It was an announcement. The king was coming with his family and court to the North. Cat became exhilarated; this was a great opportunity for her children. By the letter, it seemed they have a couple of weeks to prepare, at most.

“This is wonderful, Ned. We could strengthen our ties with the royal family. Get some advantage for the winter” Ned immediately straighten his back and frown at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Princess Daenerys for Robb, or Sansa for prince Aegon perhaps. She could be the future queen. Think about it, the advantages the North would get out of it.”

“Robb is promised to Lady Alys, I will not break that commitment. And the prince is promised to his sister. There will be no ties to be made at all.” The blasphemous Targaryen tradition of incest. She was certain when the king gazed at her children he would see a better path.

“Circumstances can change.”

“I don’t want any ties with house Targaryen. They already caused too many disgraces for my family. I wish they would remain in the capitol.” Catellyn knew of the disdain Ned professed for the king, but her husband had to realize the numerous advantages of an alliance with the crown.

“Whatever the relations are, they are the royal family and we have to receive them well.”

“Aye. And about Jon… I don’t think he should be here for that.” That surprised Catelyn. He always wanted to include the bastard, what changed? She ought to not give him time to reconsider.

“Yes, definitely”. Cat was fast to agree.

“I will send him to Last Hearth. Greatjon was impressed with Jon last time he was here. He will receive him well.”

“Thank you Ned. I didn’t expect such consideration.” Her husband gave her a confused look, as if he didn’t consider her at all.

She was about to ask what caused his decision, when Rodrik Cassel appeared in the goodswood out of breath. “My lord, my lady! They have been attacked, your sons and the Greyjoy lad. They just arrived.”

“Attacked?!” Ned inquired alarmed, while Catellyn went pale. “Lead the way Rodrick.”

_____________________________________

Cat practically run towards the gate, she loved all her children without any bonds, but Robb was her firstborn. He would always have a special place in her heart. The sight of him, covered in blood, standing in the gates anguished her without measure.

“Robb, what happened?” She inspected his face and clothing with her hands, trying to find any wounds that were the source of the blood but found nothing. So it was not his, the gods were merciful.

“We were ambush by some wildlings mom, north of here. There were six of them, but we are fine. Theon killed one and Jon… Jon killed the rest”. Her son carefully held her hands, consoling her. “Don’t worry, everything is fine.”

“Killed the rest?” Ned was as perplexed as her. “How come ‘killed the rest’?”. He shifted to his bastard.

“How is that hard to understand?” The bastard looked annoyed by the question. “They were alive and now they are dead. It’s not some great mystery”.

“You killed five wildlings by yourself. Its that right?” Ned persisted.

“Yeah, its how math works, six minus one equals five. Thank me later; I am going to take a piss”. He said walking way. _Hideous brat._

Theon waited for Jon to be out of hearing range before blurting out. “He murdered them, I saw it my Lord. He just hacked and sliced their necks without breaking a sweat, like he knew where to hit. He must do it all the time in this escapades of his.” Greyjoy accused the bastard.

“No, it’s not that, Jon _saved_ us father”. Her son shoved the Greyjoy lad to the side, while defending his brother. “But I didn’t know he could… well.. kill people so well. It surprised me too. We should send a force there, I fear there are more wildlings prowling around, they may cause havoc for our people.” Cat smiled. Robb was the perfect heir, dutiful and responsible. Ned looked proud too.

“I will, don’t worry. Go on you two, clean yourselves and get ready for supper. We have some important news to share.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Jon will be an excellent fighter, way better than most, but not John Wick sort. He kicked ass with the wildlings because he had a vision earlier on about that encounter so he knew what to expect (this will be mentioned later). That’s also why he hesitated when Robb told them to go North.
> 
> *Before anyone feel tempted to throw stones at Catelly, I must remind you that in this story Jon is not your everyday cup of tea. Sure, she could have been nicer to him when he was little, embraced him as a mother, but Jon return every bit of her hostility by making her life a living hell. He is, just like she said, rude, aggressive and a total ass to her. He belittle her position every chance he gets, goad, prod and taunt her, manipulate his father using her as an excuse, and so on…
> 
> I felt tempted to write a few stories about their bickering: he trying to convince everyone that she took a lover or that Sansa was a bastard, she excluding him of events of the family and keeping Robb away from his influence. Opted instead that the hints I wrote was enough. Let’s move forward.


	6. Jon - The black sheep. / Eddard -I am not...

#### JON – The black sheep.

News spread and now everyone was looking at him like he grew horns. He only killed some wildlings. That was what being a warrior was about: kill things. He had never killed a person before, but he wasn’t moved by it, it felt natural, it was what he was being prepared for.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout, boy!” Rodrick gave him a slap on the shoulder and huffed a laugh, full of pride for his pupil. “Tomorrow I will put you ‘gainst three blokes at once! The North will have its own Sword of the Mornin’!” The Master of Arms said gleeful glancing at the guards around, searching his next victim.

The men avoided his gaze, afraid of being selected for tomorrow’s training in the yard. They were afraid of Jon, great….

Jon was not even sure he deserved such praise. Although he was remarkably good and confident in his abilities –hells, he could take three against one for sure – he hadn’t won against the wildlings fairly. He knew everything they would do beforehand because he had dreamt that same encounter that night.

Except that, in that dream, both Theon and Robb died in front of him. Jon shook his head to get that vision out of his mind.

Yes, because it had been a vision, not just a dream. The wildlings had moved and stroke exactly like he saw them do before. Incredibly easy to slash the throat of a foe when you are certain of his movements.

To make matters worse, he had even bigger concerns. He was unusually resistant to heat, that was his nature since his body started to change. His siblings could not drink or eat hot food or touch glowing hot embers like he could, but such trait was easy enough to hide. Not so easy was his increased body temperature, which appeared recently. It was a slight difference, but enough to make him wonder and go pester Maester Luwin in his laboratory.

“Maester Luwin? Do you have a moment?”. The old maester was leaning in his potions, some of which Jon was familiar, but most were product of the knowledge only a learned maester could claim.

“Oh, Jon. Of course, come in. What can I do for you?”. _Maester Luwin is a nice old coot_. He taught Jon his letters, history, geography, medicine, valyrian; everything he got interested in, Maester Luwin knew about. If Jon wasn’t so good at fighting – and sitting still - he would travel to the citadel to become a maester too.

“I have been feeling really hot lately. Even when I am outside in the cold, I fell hot. It’s difficult to explain.” Maester Luwin let out a little giggle, eyeing him with an all-wise-and-knowing gaze.

“Ah, it is scary, ‘tis true. We all go through such perils. Our bodies change and -” Jon cut him short, before things get awkward.

“No, no. I mean really, really hot. Can you feel?” Jon grabbed his hand and led to his face.

The maester frowned and pattered his forehead longer. “Your temperature is not normal, indeed. Are you not felling ill?”. Inquired the old man, already fearing for his health.

“I am fine. I don’t sweat or anything. It does not bother me, but still…”

“I--I don’t know what to tell you… I never consider…” The maester stopped, and gave Jon an unreadable look, as if he was seeing the lad for the first time. “I am sorry, Jon. I will get the books and try to find something. There must be an explanation.” Luwin was intrigued, he had a twinkle in his eyes, which happened when he came across a mystery.

“Thank you. And… you know…. don’t tell anyone.”

“There is no reason for me to. I won’t”. He promised, and Jon knew it to be true.

___________________________________________

Jon made sure for check the eggs now and then and put them in the fireplace for a bit. They felt happy for being in the fire, or that’s how Jon perceived them at least. Since Jon loved the warmth, maybe his feeling about the eggs was biased. Nobody knew about them. He was weird, he recognized, and was grateful that he eggs never ‘talked’ to him again. He didn’t need another oddity.

He heard the knocking and quickly put the eggs in the chest before attending. It was Arya.

A good brother had no favorites, but he was content to be just a regular one.

“Jon! It is truth you saved Robb and Theon?” She made herself comfortable and sprawled on the bed.

“Hell yeah, in my shinning armor and hair blowing in the wind. Theon fainted out of emotion, I waked him up with a kiss and took him to my castle. But I was on hooch; so when I woke up to that ugly wife, I decided to give up the heroic business”. She giggled.

“Woke him up with a kiss? You must be a prince then.”

“Of course I am! Look at this profile” He turned his head to the side and lifted his nose for dramatic effect. “I picture it in marble.”

“Okay, okay..” She laughed. “Since the pirate thing didn’t work for you,” Yeah, that was a failure. Shame, he really was hyped about being a pirate, but having his father run though the whole fortress after him to beat his ass made the whole experience bitter. “you will be the prince and I your knight. You stand in the back and look pretty and I fight for you”.

“Stand around and look pretty?” He pretended to think about it. “I dare say I was born to play this role. We have a deal. You will need this then.” He was saving the present for her birthday, but now was a good time as any. It was a little sword, perfect for her size.

“A sword!! Thank you, thank you so much!” Damn, she looked so cute with that little happy dance.

“First lesson: stick with the pointy end. Second lesson: break noses with the blunt one.”

She made the cutest little pout. “I know which point to use.”

“Don’t undervalue this tip, it’s important, just ask Robb. All the good swords have names…” Arya became serious and pondered about it for a while.

“Sansa can keep her embroidery and her needles”. She said “Now I have my own Needle”.

___________________________________________

During supper, in honor of Lady Stark, Jon ate like a pig, as he often did. Then, as it was traditional, she would look disgusted at him and he would grin at her. It was their dinner ritual. He was in such a good mood, he decided to call her mom this time, something reserved for special occasions only.

“Hmm, mom, I could eat a whole pie like this.” He said with the most delightful smile in his arsenal.

The rest of his family glanced back and forth between them, already aware of his provocation, but it had to be done; when she became as red as her hair and with that face of who sucked the world’s tartest lemon, he was in bliss. _So beautiful I could cry_.

If she could have her way, he would be eating in the kitchens instead of being with his family in a sit of his own in the Stark’s table. Jon knew of his luck, most bastards did not have so many privileges like him; even still, he refused to be thankful for it. _I didn’t choose my mother. Don’t even know her._

Cuntllyn was ready to snap at him, so his father talked fast before she could say something. _Pussy_.

“Jon, after of what happened today I decided it’s for the best you start to expand your training. Maybe going to other keeps for a year or two, and develop your talent as much as possible.” Jon glared at his father, but the man didn’t mind. He merely cleared his throat and continued. “You shall spend some time with Greatjon first, I know how much he appreciated your company last time he was here, I am certain he will be impressed by what happened with the wildlings. I will give you a week to prepare everything, son.”

His father eyed him sternly, daring him to protest. Jon couldn’t, he had just lost his ground, he didn’t want to be sent away. That announcement caused a turmoil in the table, most of his siblings objecting the decision in his stead, his little sister the louder of all.

“No! You cannot do this! Jon stays!”. Arya… he would kill a lion for her.

Sending sons away to be raised elsewhere was common among the lords, but Eddard Stark always refused to do the same with his own children. Was he being singled out because of what happened that afternoon?

“Father,” He swallowed his pride and begged “Please, I don’t want to go anywhere, I want to stay here. Is this because of what happened in the woods? I was just defendin’ Theon and Robb, I am not a murderer, we were bein’ attacked!”

His brother came to his defense “Aye, if wasn’t for Jon we would be dead. He did nothin’ wrong.”

“How about draggin’ you to brothels with him?” Lady Stark intervened. “That’s unworthy of a gentleman, Robb!”. Jon glared at the bitch with all his hate, how dared she accuse him of such thing? He wanted to protest, to say it was not his idea, but it would only put his brother in trouble.

“Cat, we talked ‘bout this.” Father cut in and tried to reassure Jon. “I’m aware you did nothing wrong, son, but one does not kill five armed men at your age without repercussions. This is not a punishment, I want you to receive the best training possible.”

“Sure does look like a punishment.” Jon argued.

“It’s not, it’s a reward. Think about it, you will see more of the world and meet new people, all things you like.” Ned countered.

His father was making good statements, yet something was off. He did not like particularly of the pleased look on Lady Stark’s face.

“Yes! Jon should train with the kingsguard. He can become as good as any of them.” His brother said that bit so proudly that he felt embarrassed of his unwillingness to leave.

“No, Robb. The court is no place for a Stark.” Father responded.

“He is not a Stark anyway, he is a Snow”. His sister pointed out. For once Jon was thankful for Sansa’s big mouth.

Father hated the Targaryens, and the king. Of that, everybody knew. Jon could bet that Robert Baratheon was his sweetheart, and father got sour because the king killed him. That would explain the awkward ‘He was so strong, handsome and dashing’ type of comments from his father about his friend.

“True that, dear sis”. He replied and winked. Sansa twisted her mouth just like her mother.

“Will Jon have to leave then? He can’t, he have to stay with the pack.” Bran was another one of his fans. Jon smiled at him.

“I will go with him!” Came an overexcited childish voice from the corner. He had to laugh at that one. Rickon could barely count to ten, but he was already a brave adventurer.

He indulged his little brothers, and lifted his spoon in the air to declare animated. “Yes, let’s all go. We shall brave the dark unknown land of the Umbers and overcome the perilous quests bestowed by our lord. We shall laugh and feast in the defeat of our enemies together, drink their blood from their skulls, and lay claim to their fair maidens besotted by our strength and bravery!”.

He and the children laughed, Rickon reaching for his own spoon to imitate his brother. Robb threw a side smile to their father, while the man himself shook the head amused. Cuntllyn sneered at the ruckus they were making, and yanked the spoon from his little brother’s raised hand.

“That not up for discussion. He will go, and is for his own good, that’s final”. Lady Stark cut in their fun.

_Yeah, like you give a rat-ass for my well-being, you ginger cunt_.

She continued, “On another unrelated matter, the royal family will arrive in about two weeks. So we must prepare for their arrival”.

That announcement wiped all the happiness from his face. So that’s what this is about. They just wanted to send the bastard away so he would not tarnish the Stark name before the royals. Jon tried to look at his father for answers, but he just winced and looked away.

_Unrelated my ass_.

A quick glance around the table told Jon his siblings also noticed the connection, Robb giving him a mix of pity and embarrassment for his mother’s obvious scheme, Arya and Bran angry and confused about what was happening. Theon bearing a side smirk, pleased whenever Jon was put down due to his birth. The only one who was self-centered enough to not care was dear old Sansa.

“The crown prince will come?” His oldest sister was beaming at the news, he just was unsure if his absence was part of her joy.

“Indeed, Sansa, with the exception of the dowager queen and prince Viserys, the whole family will come.”. Her mother replied smiling.

“He isn’t betrothed to anyone right? Maybe that’s why the king is coming?”

_Gods… at least she is pretty._

“You don’t even know him. What if he is mean and boring?” Arya confronted her sister.

“He is the prince, Arya, which means he is not hideous nor boring.”

Arya cocked her head, abashed by her older sister logic. “Nothing you think makes sense.”

Robb, Theon and he were just looking at the scene, amusing themselves. They could charge entrance for that. At the same time, Jon was struggling to put the felling of betrayal in the back of his mind, trying to pass it as nothing. But it was difficult.

“When I marry I won’t have to think anymore”. Sansa replied so steadfast to counterattack her sister that she likely didn’t notice what she said. He would be dammed to let that opportunity pass.

“And if you find someone to breath and another to chew for you, then you won’t need to carry that brain around anymore”.

If looks could kill, Jon would drop dead. Arya and Bran laughed greatly, Robb almost choked in his stew holding the crackled, so it was worth it.

“Stop it. Why can’t you keep up a civil conversation? The prince is betrothed to his sister, there will be no marriage arrangements.” Their father chastised them, and Sansa shriveled with the prospective of not having a chance to wed the prince. “We have to prepare ourselves, however, the royal party will comport a lot of people and there will be work for all of us.”

The ‘all of us’ didn’t include him, for that _problem_ was already solved. The kingsguards were coming as well, and Jon would miss this life chance with them because he would be away. His father should know better than that, sure he knew, so why was he doing this? Nothing made sense, he never showed any indication of being embarrassed by Jon before, but now that he did and it hurt - a lot.

_He is ashamed of you, why wouldn’t he? Bastards are embarrassing mistakes above all._

_No..._

_Yes._

_The royal family will be here. You have no place amidst them._

_You are not a Stark. And never will be one._

_You are only good for filling Robb’s cup or rot in the Wall._

Lady Stark was saying something about the preparations, but he was not listening anymore. The murky thoughts kept crawling into his head – like cockroaches wiggling in the hay sack - bile rising up to his throat. Years of insecurities and bitterness flooding his mind. He could no longer hold himself.

“Let’s focus on shipping away the bastard first, of course!”. He rose, the sudden move sending the chair to the ground. Everyone stopped and stared him perplexed.

_Fuck it, I will not swallow this for free._

“Jon, sit down and behave. We will talk about this later.” Father said impassively.

“No, dad, do you take me for a dimwit!?” He was pissed off right now. The man looked into his eye and told him he was sending him away as a reward, for his own good.

_BULLSHIT._

“I’LL NO SWALLOW YER TRIPES ANY LONGER!.” He shouted slamming his hand on the table.

Bran and Rickon jumped and screamed as sparks flew from the fireplace. The flames got bigger and the room warmer somehow.

“Watch how you talk to your lord father! Who do you think you are?” Cuntllyn got on her feet like him, livid with his outburst.

“Fuck you, saggy-tits bitch, I’m not talkin’ to you.”. He heard Sansa gasp in her chair, and his little brothers scared by the hostility permeating in the ambient. Arya just looked between her siblings and the cold furious frown of their father, herself anxious with was about to transpire.

“Jon calm down, don’t talk to my mother like that.” Robb spoke and put his hand on his shoulder. Jon could notice his brother’s distress, but there was nothing he could do to appease him in the moment.

“Why not? Bet it was her idea!”. He shouted pointing at the ginger cunt.

“Jon, stop that right now or-“ Father began to threatened him, but Jon interrupt him in his raging.

“Or what?! What you are going to do? Send me away? Argh, got to hell!”

His father look like he was about to explode. He got up menacingly and snarled at him.

“Apologize to my wife and go to your room. Tomorrow you will go to Last Hearth and maybe Greatjon will force some manners into you.” He pronounced through gritted teeth.

“You said I have a week!” Jon objected.

“That was before this display of bad behavior. Perhaps I should have sent you away to foster years ago, instead of spoilin’ you so much. Now apologize, go to your room and pack your belongings.” Father’s voice was like iron. Jon sighed and resigned himself to his fate, at least for now.

“I humbly apologize, Lady Tully.” He mocked the apology with a light bow, still enraged. “As a token of my remorse you can have this”. He tossed his soup bowl at her face and took a brief moment to appreciate her squealing, before storming away without looking back.

* * *

#### EDDARD – I am not ashamed of you.

After dealing with his children ruckus and complaints for sending their brother away, Ned still had to face the worst part: the brother himself. Jon passed the limits his time, Catellyn was fuming from her ears after he stomped away from the salon. _With all the reason this time_. Still he understood his son’s pain, and once again defended his behavior. That didn’t stop him from forbidden his children to go after their rogue brother, Jon needed a lesson.

He waited a bit before going after Jon, but for what he did not know. He had no idea of what say to the boy, he only knew that whatever he said it would be the wrong thing. Jon’s temper was explosive and terrible, and most of that was directed at him, especially now he was reaching maturity. Sometimes he wondered if this was his punishment for what he had done, that somehow Lyanna made Jon with a foul temper to punish him.

_And what about the fighting skills?_ He recalled apprehensive _. Killed five men by the age of fourteen…._ If they were in the south that would be more than enough for Jon to be a knight. He knew his son was good, but even he was impressed. And worried.

Ned was sure he ordered Jon to go for his room, but unsurprisingly he disobeyed, since the room was empty. He continued his search for the next most likely location; the stables. Jon liked it there, just as much as his love for horses, and his love for running away from his problems - Ned being considered one of the said problems.

As he was walking to the stables, he heard his son’s lovely voice from affair, humming and old tune he learned from Old Nan.

…

“🎵Wolves asleep amidst the trees

Bats all a swaying in the breeze

But one soul lies anxious wide awake

Fearing no manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths 🎵

🎵For your dolly Polly sleep has flown

Don't dare let her tremble alone

For the watcher, heartless, cold

Bound by his life oath 🎵”

The more he approached, he could better discern the words of the song.

“🎵 He comes he'll go

Leaves naught behind

But heartache and woe

Deep, deep woe 🎵”

“🎵 Birds are silent for the night

Cows turned in as daylight dies

But one soul lies anxious wide awake

Fearing no manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths 🎵”

“🎵 My dear dolly Polly shut your eyes

Lie still, lie silent, utter no cries 🎵”

…

His son was there, brooding and stroking his grey mare. He must have heard his approach, for he stopped singing, but refused to acknowledge his father with a look. Ned stayed at his side and handed his son a brush for the mare, even then he was ignored.

“Jon, look at me.” He ordered.

“I am busy.” Came the disrespectful reply.

“You should have gone to your room, like I ordered you. But I will relent it. Now stop it and look at me.” He tried again.

“I must prepare the horse for my imminent travel, Lord Stark, like you ordered first. So I am very busy.”  
  


They barely started their conversation, and Ned had lost his patience already. “Enough with this, don’t pretend you didn’t understand. Jon, what is going on with you? What made you think it was a good idea to offend my wife, the lady of this castle, and toss soup in her head?”

That made the boy toss the brush aside and glare at him. Ned noticed that soon his son already had surpassed him in height, and had to lower his head slightly to stare his father. “Why not? I am going away anyway, might be my last chance.”

“You will be back, I am just sending you away for a while, it’s for your own good. Don’t need to be longer than a couple of months if you are so unwilling.” He sought to persuade his son, but even he had to admit the excuse was empty. _Catellyn had to blurt it out that way…_

“Oh, who is pretending now?” Jon mocked with a sour smile. “It’s not for my own good, and we both know it.”

He had an idea why Jon exploded like he had, so he went to the point; “I am not ashamed of you and I am not doing this because the royal family is coming.”

“Filthy liar.” The murmur was just loud enough so Ned could hear, such rudeness inadmissible from any lad towards his father. But Jon wasn’t anyone, he was the son who Ned – out of guilt – spoiled rotten, and now was paying the price for it.

_Lya, forgive me, but I want to beat the pelt out of your son._

“Don’t talk to me like that, I am your father.” He scolded. “Its for behavior such as these that some time away will be good for you. I have been too lenient, in the real world you will learn some healthy fearful respect.”. Jon didn’t look impressed.

“Funny. I see my father talking, but hear Lady Stark words.” _Brat._ Catellyn did have said something like that not long ago. 

“Is that so?” Eddard uttered stone-faced. “Perhaps she is right then. It will be for the best in the long run.”.

“Hahaha, yeah, sure,” Jon laughed, but without any joy. His son continued sarcastically “after all, what is best for me is all she wants. Only the best for the son of a whore that is her husband’s bastard.”

Ned hardened upon hearing Lya’s own son calling her a whore. She did not deserve that, not from a boy she gave her life for. At the same time, Jon had no way of knowing, since Ned never spoke of her, and a prostitute was a guess as good as any as his mother.

He warned the boy with a mix of sadness and anger “Don’t talk of you mother like that.”

“Why not?” Jon challenged him. “She is a whore, I know, that’s one of the reasons why you never talk about her.” Despite the affirmation, his son stare him waiting for he to continue, to share some information about her.

Jon asked few times about his mother – who she was, where she was - and Ned always told him the same thing ‘Later’. That answer would not be accepted for long, and pass her as a prostitute could be an effective way to deal with his son’s doubt.

_Just say she was a tavern wench I met during the war and be done with it_.

However, while he held his son gaze he felt his resolve slipping.

“She was gentle, brave and beautiful. I can tell you that much.” He argued the best he could think of, too weak to lie or tell the whole truth.

_I can’t tell you more though. I am sorry._

He heard the annoyed huff, followed by the barb in Jon’s voice. “I doubt that _father_. More likely you found some cheap wench on a sideroad and f– “

The slap came before Eddard could held it, a red stain on Jon’s cheek, which the lad touched abashed, as if he could not believe what just occurred. Ned himself was disconcerted, but he kept his expression cool so Jon didn’t notice. His son’s surprise switched soon to wrath and he glared at his father breathing deeply, possibly considering if he would hit Ned or not. A side effect of all that wolf’s blood from his mother.

_I came here for a civil conversation, to make peace with him. Not this…_

“Go to your room.” He ordered tired. “You go to Last Hearth early in the morning.”

Jon said nothing, just turn his back and walked out of Ned’s sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Arya was ok in my book, but I was never so hyped on her like the rest of the fandom. She becaming some sort of samurai priestess is not enticing. I honestly don’t what tomake of her in this story, but I was thinking about Gendry and the return of the Baratheons along the lines…
> 
> Look at this profile, I picture it in marble.” Who knows from where I got this?
> 
> *Yep, that song is witcher S2, S2. You will see A LOT of references of the witcher here. Here is the tune for those who don't know: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JFUsPfuwjpw&ab_channel=ThunderTrailer


	7. Arya - I will see you soon. / Jon - I will miss you...

#### ARYA – I will see you soon.

She wanted to come for Jon and console him. She knew he was very hurt for being sent away, but father forbade all of them to talk to him. Maester Luwin told father that Jon was just going “trough a phase”, and that’s why he threw the soup in her mother’s face, otherwise he would have behaved.

_No, he wouldn’t._ Her mind whispered to her. _He never behaves._

Her brother often got in trouble, but he was the one who always protected them and made them laugh. Now he was going away. It was unfair!

___________________________________________

The next day they gathered at the gates to send Jon away. Father dispatched three guards and some provisions with him, including clothes and gifts to lord Umber and his family. Jon didn’t seem happy nor sad, just indifferent.

He walked past father and mother, refusing both talking and looking to them. But hugged all the rest of his siblings and friends, even Theon.

“Bye, asshole”. Jon blurted as he squeezed Greyjoy quickly, giving an uncomfortable tug in the other’s neck. “I will not really miss you, but I will remember you often when I need a laugh.”

“Charming to the end…” Theon sneered. "No need to hurry to come back.” 

Robb laughed whilst breaking them apart, freeing Theon from the tight clasp.

“You say this things but I know you will miss each other.” He said hugging Jon tightly. “Don’t take too long brother, I need my partner. Just take care okay?”

“I will Robb, I will miss you.” Then he whispered really low to her brother’s ear, but not enough so Arya didn’t hear. “If you ever feel you are being too fast again just think of Old Nan naked.” Robb blushed instantly and snorted, instigating everyone’s curiosity.

_What they were talking about?_

There was no time to ask, Jon already moved to Sansa and embraced her tenderly, despite their differences. Her sister responded awkward, but she tried nonetheless.

“Bye Sansa. You are smart and pretty, okay? The prize of Winterfell; if this prince Aegon doesn’t see It, he is a piece of shit.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Sansa replied surprised, touched by his comment. “I will remember.”. She pull a ribbon from her hair and handed to him, like a lady would do for her favorite knight. “Here, take it. So you will be safe.”

He silently thanked her before finally moving to Arya, who jumped at his lap wishing he took her with him.

“Jon, I don’t want you to go.” She held him with all her strength.

“I know Arya, but know that I want to. I have to. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean? You will be back soon, it’s just some months right? Father said two years, but… You will come visit”.

Jon looked miserable at her then lowered his gaze. There was something there Arya did not like at all.

“I will be back. I promise you.”

_But when?_ Arya did not know how to react as he moved forward to say goodbye to their little brothers.

“Bye you two. Promise me you guys will train hard”. Jon said messing their hair. “We need to get powerful to go to some adventures together”.

“We will, I will hit a target within 200 yards, you will see”. Bran assured.

“Me too.” Baby Rickon said not wanting to be behind his brother.

“Great. I am counting on that.”

She saw her father’s hopefull gaze fixed at Jon, who merely offered a nod before stepping away, towards his horse. Father strode some steps to say something but Jon just hopped up his horse and stormed away. He didn’t look back.

* * *

#### JON – I will miss you brother.

Winterfell, night before his departure.

That night he had a lot of time to set his thoughts straight. What future did he have here really? Robb was his brother, his best friend, but here he would forever be in his shadow and under the scorn of Cuntellyn until, eventually, his father give in her whims and send him to the wall. That was the best he could be?

He was talented. Very much and in a lot of things. Screw modesty. As a bastard, he was free to do whatever he wanted. Maybe was time to test this freedom as a whole.

Mercenary was a good option for someone like him, and the best position a mercenary could hope for was in the Golden Company. Especially a westerosi one. All he had to do is get to Karl Hold, ahead of Last Heart, from there get a ship to Bravos and start to look for the company. Money was easy; he stole a fair amount from the vault when they weren’t looking. At the time, Jon didn’t know he would need the money one day, he just wanted to cause problems for his father’s wife. Zero shame about it though; what he stole was nothing next to his siblings’ inheritance or dowry.

The only complication was to evade the guards responsible for taking him to Last Heart. Not too difficult, really. Jon was an excellent rider, and guards need to sleep. He had to travel light: just the money, a change of clothes, and the eggs. He had to take those stupid eggs, they were important, even if he didn’t know why. _Shame my harp is confiscated once again, would love to take it with me. I could steal it if there was time…._

While he was immersed in his plans, someone knocked at the door. Jon answered angry, ready for a fight. But instead of his father, it was only Robb, tired and dressed in his night clothes.

“Hey. Did he send you to talk to me?”. ‘He’ was obviously their illustrious father.

“No. He forbade anyone to talk to you. Are you busy?”

“Yeah, I was shaving my balls to be nice and smooth for Last Heart.” He answered with a straight face and stepped back to give space for Robb to enter.

Robb rolled his eyes but paid him no mind. He was used to Jon’s superb charm.

His brother scanned the room, eyes lingering in the packages and trunk he prepared for the trip. Without any reaction, Robb sat in the chair next to his desk with a sigh.

“In any case, dad doesn’t need to know I am here. Have you calmed down?” He asked regarding the outburst Jon had earlier.

“Yeah, I was reflectin’ on some things…”

“Uhum. Broodin’, you mean.”.

“Nay, I don’t brood. I silently reflect over the meaning of life, politics, economy and many other serious subjects, while maintaining a respectable stance of immersion.” He japed, but his brother wasn’t able to laugh, only chuckling briefly.

Robb looked miserable, and Jon simply hated that look on his face.

“Jon, I’m sorry. Never thought father would send you away out of embarrass…” He stopped himself of saying the ugly truth. “Well, you know. That’s just so not him.”

That’s what Jon liked to think as well, but an inner side always questioned. “Oh, don’t be naïve Robb. I’m the single dirtiest stain in father’s honor. I am very aware of it.”

“That’s not true. You are just saying this because you are hurt right now”. Robb ranked his hand through his hair and groaned. “Dammit Jon! you can’t explode and disrespect my mother like that! She is the lady of Winterfell, sometimes we have to swallow our pride for what is proper. Everyone does it. Especially now the court will come here.”

Jon felt embarrassed. His brother’s opinion was one of the few he really valued. _How someone a few months older than him could be so much wiser?_ Sometimes Robb was a stupid teenager, but most of the times he was like a sage old man, whilst Jon was always an introvert, problematic, temperamental weirdo.

“Look, just wait a bit.” He continued. “I will convince father to bring you back soon. I promise. And who knows… Maybe you will have fun with Greatjon, learn some things. I sure as hell wanted to go with you, have some of those adventures and not be stuck here.”

Trying to lighten their spirits, Jon went along. “Yeah, I was thinking just it right now. For the right reasons I would be happy to go.”

“Uhum. But don’t get too comfortable there, aye?” Robb said, almost worried with his remark. “I want you to return as soon as possible. You are my partner, not Small Jon’s. You guys all have the same name, they may want you to form a band or somethin’, but ye can’t. You have to return here.” He patted Jon’s bare shoulder.

Jon laughed at his jealousy, while a hint of guilt underplayed his amusement. _Oh Robb, I am sorry. I love you brother._

Before he could answer, Robb fondled his arm - a frown on his face - then return to his shoulder, following to touch his forehead, clearly concerned.

“Damn you are too hot.” He stated “Are you felling well? Do you have a fever?”

_Shit. Why I didn’t put on a shirt before opening the door. Fuck…_

“Hahaha, gods, Robb. I know I’m hot,” He shushed his brother’s hand away. “but you must get a hold of yourself near my beautiful person. I’m a maid, ye ken? If you dishonor me, Alys will have to hand over her fianceé to save my virtue..” He hoped the jest would deviate his brother’s attention.

It worked partially; Robb shoved him aside, annoyed by the sass. “Keep that up and one day some guy will take you seriously, _pretty boy_.” He provoked. “It is all this heat, this room feels like a furnace with all the woods you shove into the fireplace. It’s melting your brain.”

“Hmmm.” He pretended to consider, then moved to a more interesting subject. “Hey, remember all that Arbor’s Gold father stashed in the cellar and told us to not come near it, or he would cripple us?” Robb nodded with a smile, already knowing was coming. Jon took out a bottle from underneath his bed, and fetched two cups that he put with it. “I _acquired_ one, you could say. Let’s commemorate my incoming travel getting drunk, what do you say?”.

_One last time before I do gods knows what in Essos._

Robb took his coup and poured some wine for them eagerly “One miserly bottle won’t get anyone drunk, but let’s try.”

_______________________________________________

Way to Last Heart, three days later.

At night, Jon and the guards exchanged some conversation during supper and went to sleep. They were a fair bunch, and Jon almost felt bad for the trouble he was about to put them in. As planned, he took his horse a little far away before mounting and rushing to Karl Hold. The probably would continue their trip to Last Heart, and there Greatjon would sends scouts to look for him. They would never guess his destination, probably imagining he returned to Winterfell. His father, as well, would not receive news an act upon it for four days at least. He had time.

Karl Hold, four days later.

“I want a cabin to Bravos”. Jon requested the man, who he was informed would leave Westeros anytime soon. The captain looked ragged and dirty, his ship not in better condition than the man itself, but any ship would do.

“Too bad. This ship is headed to Pentos.” He replied.

“Pentos?”

“Did I stutter? Aye, Pentos, _stupid boy_ ”. The captain probably thought he was being slick talking in valyrian.

Dumb fuck, Jon could speak it too, and well enough.

“Look, I don’t really care. I just want to get to the Golden Company”.

“Hahaha, you?” He looked at Jon head to toe. “Golden Company is a mercenary army, not a brothel. If you want work, go to some pillow house in Lys. They pay well for people like you.”

“What do you mean ‘people like me’?” Jon hated the insinuation. He was practically inviting the man to talk his garbage now, so he could answer properly.

“Pretty valyrian looking.” The man said simply, as if it was obvious. The answer, however, threw Jon off guard.

“I do not look like a valyrian. Don’t have white hair, purple eyes or any of this nonsense.” He explained.

“Your face remind one. Got the cheekbones right, pointy and dandy.” The man examined his face like a hawk, which left Jon uncomfortable. “I know many a lysene, and saw some of the bigots who live behind the black wall of Volantis. You look the part.”

_Enough of this bullshit._

“Whatever. Take me to Pentos then. I have money.” He showed the man a handful of the golden coins he carried in his pouch. The captain’s eyes shined with greed. _Should had open with it, money talks better than words._

“Your loss, take the cabin.” The man finally agreed.

___________________________________________

Joke was on him though. The Golden Company was in Lys. So, Lys he would go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Jon not only loves, he admires Robb. That’s his brother and best friend. The feeling is mutual. 


	8. Eddard - Where is my son? / Sansa - About princes...

#### EDDARD – Where is my son?

_Where is he?_

Jon was missing for two weeks know. The court was about to arrive at any moment, but all he worried about was his son. After he got message from Greatjon, he send scouts to look for him, but nothing came back. It seems the boy escaped his guards one night and disappeared.

Arya got distressed and was impossible ever since. Bran, Rickon, Robb, everyone blamed him for Jon’s disappearance. And perhaps they were right... ‘ _Promise Ned’_ .

Nothing went as planned related to Jon. He wanted him to be happy in the North, to have a family. But the boy never became part of it. He was there, but distant at the same time. It was like the lad kept so many secrets, escaping for days and brooding alone, as a way to maintain everyone for getting to close. Some reasons were obvious, Cat’s behavior towards him being one of them. That word, bastard, another. The boy was too proud to accept himself as a bastard. Proud like his mother.

But Ned had no choice; he had to send him away. He could no risk the Targaryens paying too much attention to Jon. And Jon drew a lot of attention on himself. The lad was not only talented in swordplay, archery, riding and music, he was extremely beautiful, tall and lean. He inherited the best from his parents, and both Lya and Rhaegar Targaryen were acclaimed for their beauty. He took enough from Lya so his paternity wasn’t obvious, but still it was a great risk. _‘You have to protect him’._

“Maybe a horse?” His wife was talking to him, trying to engage him in the never ending preparations for the royal family. “There is a beautiful mare in the stables, all black, sent by Lord Manderly last month. It would be an excellent gift.” Cat insisted they had to gift the king during his stay, but Ned wanted his grace the most unwelcomed as possible.

“Fine, his grace can have it”. He conceded. “But he must have a lot of horses already.”

“Not a northern breed one.” She proclaimed sure of herself. Ned wasn’t convinced, but a remember of Lyanna it would be. Maybe not a bad idea.

Cat continued pleased. “My uncle could use one as well, he would appreciate a robust stallion. And we can spare at least two good stallions.“

“I learnt Brynden Tully will stay in the capitol guarding the dowager queen. He will not come.”

Before she had time to react, a serving boy appeared at the door, his head halfway to the entry. Ned already knew what is was, so he looked thought the window. 

“My lord, they are here.”

Ned went to the window to see the tree-headed dragon banners in the horizon. The royal family was making their appearance in the North for the first time in over three decades…

Unfortunately…

“Let’s go,” He told his wife, also anxious by what was about to transpire. “we need to gather everyone on the yard.”

He had to give his best to be civil towards Rhaegar Targaryen.

* * *

#### SANSA – About princes and gowns.

The royal entourage was the most majestic thing Sansa ever seen. The three head dragon in the black field stood proud in the horizon, in the many banners of the knights carrying them. A procession of knights – some with long white cloaks flowing in the wind - followed behind beautiful carriages, all adorned with the sigil of house Targaryen. Sansa would love to travel in one of such carriages one day, which most likely carried the queen and the princesses. 

“I think you have some drool dripping out your mouth.” Her irritating younger sister was by her side, dressed in clothes already soiled in dirt. _Arya is always dirty, like a wildling._

“Shut up Arya.” She murmured, but maybe too loud, since their family heard.

Their mother turned to side to scold them. “Girls, behave.”

Her mother was beautiful next to her father, wearing one of her best dresses from her homeland, Riverrun. Her father and brothers were adorned with rich pelts, typical of the northerners, and Sansa herself was in a dress she made especially for the occasion. They were all align in the front yard, with their servants surrounding them, looking like the perfect image of a great noble family. Sansa felt so proud.

Well, Jon was not here. He disappeared two weeks ago; none of the scouts were able to gather any clue of his location, or what happened to him. But he was all right, Sansa knew it in her heart. Bastards are tricky, they have their ways.

She saw some kingsguards entering the courtyard, next to the prince. He rode well and looked handsome, like a prince should. He grinned at Sansa, and she was elated looking down slightly blushed. After he looked away, she took her time to analyze him in detail. He had the wavy silver hair of the Targaryens, and as far she could see purple eyes too, his skin was darker than she expect – with a golden shine -, but it was reasonable considering his dornish blood. She never saw a dornish before, but she knew they had darker complexion than people in the North. He was also lean, with a boyish face and beautiful side smile. _Oh, he is perfect, my Aegon_. She would be a perfect queen for him, all she needed was for her father to convince the king about the match.

The king himself – Rhaegar Targaryen - was stunning, long flowing silver hair and sharp features, a lean figure upon a black stallion. He was definitely the more beautiful person she ever saw. No, she corrected herself, that would be Jon, even she had to concede that her bastard brother was indeed a sight.

Still, the king looked like everything she presumed a Targaryen would be. Tall and lean, similar to his son, and… dark blue eyes? She was not sure, perhaps indigo. After he began to approach, however, Sansa became a little disturbed. Why was he so… familiar?

“Your grace,” Her father bowed in respect and greeted the king. “Winterfell welcomes you.”

_Wait.. Shouldn’t he say ‘Winterfell is yours?’_. She was confused.

The king didn’t seem to mind and moved on to salute her mother. Meanwhile Sansa noticed the queen and princesses leaving the carriage, followed by her ladies in waiting. The queen of the seven kingdoms was so elegant, in the most precious dress Sansa had ever seen so far, a gorgeous yellow velvet attire, adorned with gold embroidery. She became ashamed of her own dress she was recently so happy about, the southern clothing were much more elaborated and rich than she predicted.

The princesses moved to join the crown prince, who was talking to his guards, while the queen stride to her husband, also being greeted politely by her lord father. Sansa noticed her tanned complexion, just like the prince’s, black hair elegantly held in an elaborated bun, and big dark eyes outlined with a dark pigment she never saw before. _So this is a dornish_ , she gazed. Queen Elia was not particularly beautiful, but elegant and gracious, a woman who was born a princess.

“You must be Lady Sansa”. The king moved to talk to her. “I can see a lot of your Lady Mother’s grace in you.” He smiled softly, and Sansa was distraught once more. That smile… She recognized it. But from where?

“Thank you, your grace.” She offered a curtsy.

“Oh yes.” The queen join in. “A true jewel of the north. How old are you, dear?”

“Twelve, your grace.”

Queen Elia nodded and said. “You are going to be a stunning young woman.”

_Yes, I know. That’s why I should marry your son and go live south with dresses like yours._ Sansa was never more certain of what she wanted before.

“Thank you, your grace.” She gave a shy smile.

The king stared her sister for a moment, an unreadable expression on his fair face. Out of nothing, he commented mesmerized. “You resemble your aunt Lyanna”.

An awkward silence fell on them, the implication of the remark evident for all. In her peripheral vision she noticed her father’s anger, his fists clenched tight, while her mother just clutched his arm, in order to appease him. The queen was also uncomfortable, but smiled to Arya all the same. Sansa knew the bad history between the king and her aunt, and could not believe her sister looked anything like the woman. Arya had a long face, like that of a horse, and was always unkept and wearing boy’s clothes, nothing like the lovely maiden her aunt must had been. _I would love to have a prince fighting a war for me_ , she mused dreamy.

The king composed himself and continued to talk to Arya, who was uncomfortable with the stare. “What is your name?”

“Arya.” She answer without elaborating further.

_Is ‘you grace’, for god’s sake._ Sansa wanted to slap her sister’s head.

“Nice to meet you, lady Arya.” He nodded and moved on to her brothers.

“We should enter your graces”. Her mother offered, after all the greetings were said and done. “We prepared a most abundant feast for you.”

“It is very appreciated, lady Stark.” The queen said happily. “We shall gladly enjoy it.”

___________________________________________

Her father stood the whole feast looking bored, trying his hardest to deter the king into engaging in any conversation. At least her mother was being courteous with the royals. Sansa was busying herself looking and smiling at Aegon Targaryen. The poor prince sought to make conversation with Robb, but wasn’t having much success. Was her whole family conspiring to embarrass her?

“Hi. You are lady Sansa, correct?” A striking young lady approached her, with olive skin, black hair and dark eyes. She was slender and tall, a total contrast with the other one next to her, who was short and more voluptuous, with silver hair and violet eyes.

“I am.” Sansa gave them a small bow. “And you are?”

“I am princess Rhaenys. This is my aunt, princess Daenerys. You didn’t recognize us?”. Of course, princess Daenerys had the silver hair of the Targaryens, and princess Rhaenys was just like her mother, but way more beautiful. She saw them already, but her mind went numb while looking to her prince.

“Forgive me your graces. I…”

“It’s quite all right, right Rhaenys?” Daenerys offered, a small smile graced her full lips. The other princess shrugged. “We wanted to talk to your siblings, perhaps you could present us.”  
  


“Of course, it would be an honor”. _Arya, Robb, please do not ruin this_. At least Theon wasn’t in the feast, he had the mercy of disappearing with some servant lady some time ago.

She took the princesses to the table just beneath her parent’s. Her siblings were there alongside prince Aegon. She introduced one a one each one of them, and in return princess Rhaenys introduced her to the prince.

“I’m very glad to be in the North, lady Sansa,” Aegon stated with that dashing side smile she saw earlier. “this way I could gaze at new and beautiful wonders, like you.” Robb snored loudly, but Sansa blushed. The prince was so charming

“You are very kind, your grace.” She said and let out a sweet smile. “We are very glad ourselves for having you here.”

Before they could exchange any more pleasantries, Bran cut in, not shy anymore in Aegon’s presence. “Do you know the Sword of the Morning?”. Both Bran and Rickon were dying to bomb the prince whit questions about the kingsguards.

Aegon glance at Arthur Dayne, who was standing watchful near the king, his hand rested on the hilt of the legendary sword, Dawn. All kingsguards wore the same silver armor ornamented with house targaryen’s sigil, strapped with a white cloak, which made quite a view when they moved.

The prince turned back again to her brother grinning wickedly. “Well, of course. He trained me even”. He answered kindly. “Bran right? I can present you to him tomorrow if you want. We can train together.” He proposed, to the delight of the two small boys.

_Oh, he is the perfect prince. A person like this would never disappoint me, Arya is wrong._

“Cool! Rickon can come too?” Bran requested further.

She didn’t even notice princess Rhaenys leaning to her side to whisper in her ear “Your little brothers are delightfull.”. Sansa gave a thankful look to the princess, who were observing the scene amused. She noticed princess Daenerys having a similar reaction to her niece.

“Well, sure. He must!” The prince said out loud, caught up in the excitement. “You are big boys. You must prepare for being great knights one day.”

“We don’t have knights here.” Arya mumbled sulky, an unfriendly frown in her face. “We have only warriors.” 

_Ugh. Quiet, Arya!_

“Really? What a shame”. Aegon replied graciously to her sister, without knowing how to appeal to the sullen girl.

Daenerys continued in his behalf. “I can convince my brother to receive Rickon and Bran here in King’s Landing. They can become knights there.”

“You misunderstood us, Princess Daenerys.” Now her brother Robb meddled, and he was angry. “We have no interest in your knightly customs. In the North, we have true warriors. Southerners and their perfumes, silks and peacock armor means nothing to us.” The tirade left even Sansa uncomfortable.

_What’s Robb’s problem? He is smarter, politer than this. Has he lost his mind?_

“We understand, my lord.” The prince granted, undisturbed by the hostility. “But there is no problem in being both a warrior and a knight, don’t you agree? The knightly vows always enforce the best in a men’s virtue.”

Everyone on the table watched her brother expectantly, waiting to see if he would dare to offer more cross words to the crown prince of the seven kingdoms. The words in itself were not of much of a problem, but the callous tone and icy glare shocked Sansa, who let out her disapproval in her expression aimed at him.

He probably saw it, since he forfeit that silly boasting. “Of course, my prince.” Her brother toned down, regaining his good sense. “There is great valor in the knightly tradition.”

The tension lightened up with renewed banter, prince Aegon took to explain to her brothers about the knightly vows – and how he intended to become one one day -, while Daenerys discussed northern clothing and hairstyles with Sansa. Robb made quite the effort to show any interest for the prince’s conversation, if not for the sake of politeness in itself, at least to please Brandon and Rickon who were thrilled by his tales. Daenerys proved to be witty in her observations, and Sansa noticed the beautiful princess smiled a lot, attracting attention from many of the men in the feast. She attempted to bring her niece into the conversation, however the princess was more interested in stare at Robb, quiet and thoughtful.

“Are you already betrothed, Lord Robert?” Rhaenys cut in their conversation, and took a gracious sip from her cup, one red long nail trailing her lower lip afterwards. The movement seemed so… majestic?

_Why princess Rhaenys was interested in that anyway?_

Robb gladly jump in the chance of changing the subject. “I am, your grace. I look forward for my marriage with Lady Alys Karstark. She is the most adorable and beautiful lady I ever met. The ceremony will happen as soon the court leaves Winterfell.” He announced enthusiastically.

“Anxious?”. The princess tone was displeased, but she smiled all the same, staring Robb through her thick eyelashes. “Should we leave soon then?.”

“By no means, your grace.” Her brother was wary of Rhaenys, all the cockiness from before gone. “You may stay as long as you wish. Winterfell is yours.”

“Good”. She said sweetly, another sip in the cup. “And you better not forget that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Writing Sansa is hard, man…
> 
> Anyway, Robb is polite, but he can have a temper, and he also has that ridiculous and stubborn northern pride that sniggers at anything southern.


	9. Rhaenys - Frozen hell... / Rhaegar - Dying man's tales.

#### RHAENYS – Frozen hell. Snob wolves.

Princess Rhaenys. (author:sharandula)

The time that took to leave the feast and go to their assigned bedrooms was an eternity too late. Rhaenys hated every single minute of it. Her inner dragon wanted to burst down Winterfell’s walls, and brought down the Starks to their icy brittle knees. 

Her anger did not lessen while she and Daenerys headed to the chamber they shared, strolling the fortress along its endless halls and hallways. It was bigger than the Red Keep, although it didn’t appear as such on the outside, but surprisingly it was just as warm – if not more – thanks to the hot springs situated beneath the floor. The castle would be nice if wasn’t as dark and gloomy as Dragonstone, which also had small and scarce windows and bare stone walls.

She shared a bedroom with her aunt Daenerys, arrangement she much enjoyed for Dany was her best friend and companion since they were children. Her aunt was four years younger – only thirteen for her seventeen – still she was much wiser than her years; calm where Rhaenys raged, thoughtful where she was impulsive and optimist where she was cynical. Dany had the silver hair and violet eyes of the ancient valyrians, ivory skin and a womanly body already, all traits Rhaenys envied once, before she learned to appreciate her own lean figure and dornish heritage. 

_I am a princess on both sides, an heir of the powerful women of house Nymerios Martell and the daughter of the dragon. I don’t care for the opinion of the sheep… or wolves_. The recurrent thought kept her from lashing out on the Starks - at the risk of embarrassing her family - since their arrival.

Rhaenys observed her aunt sitting behind her through the mirror, occupied braiding Rhaenys long black hair while reminiscing the days events. Dany smiled sweetly whilst commenting about the beauty of the northern landscape, its different foods and flavors and the shy smile of the heir of the North. The last one caused Rhaenys to stop pretending she didn’t care – at least for her best friend.

“They dare! Whom they think they are to treat us like that? These Starks should lick the ground we walk on for my father’s mercy. They are traitors, rebels!” She threw her arms up in her indignation.

“Calm down Rhae. I didn’t like it either, but we can’t allow them to get to us.”

“And my father just stood there… He did nothing! He should have snapped at Lord Stark, remind him of his place. Why he just swallowed such disrespect? What got into him?” She was almost ashamed of her father. The stern dragon king, who was used to put lords down in a single phrase, reduced to that pathetic puppy fool by the Starks.

“Rhaegar really loved lady Lyanna, you know that.” Rhaenys knew it very well, which only angered her more. “This is her family. Perhaps he feels a little guilty about everything that happened. The Starks lose much during the rebellion, thanks to my…” Dany gulped, hesitating to mention the infamous Targaryen. “… father. In a way, our family own them a great deal.”

She disagreed. He grandfather was mad, and made what mad people do: the wrong thing. Her father, however, had no excuse for running away with the Stark woman, shaming her mother, abandoning Rhaenys and Aegon to their own luck in the Red Keep. He and Lyanna Stark were responsible for the rebellion, and the Starks should had lost all the titles for what they done. To this day still, both Rhaenys and Aegon were unsure if their father would had had put them aside in favor of his children with the other woman.

Those were old wounds, not worth debating again with Dany, so she assessed another matter. “To think I had hoped for some arrangement with the Stark’s heir. He is the worst of them.”

“But handsome, isn’t he?” Daenerys grinned to her through the mirror, but Rhaenys was not amused. Even so, she conceded that Robert was handsome, he was only fourteen, and was already tall, well-built and with some light beard on his face. The heir of Winterfell had the red hair and baby-blue eyes of the Tullys, and inherited their strong jaw, instead of the Stark’s long face.

_He will grow into a fine man, one I would not mind being married_. She mused sadly, her expression displaying her emotions.

Her aunt offered her some solace. “The north is a harsh, cold place. _And_ have harsh, cold and unwelcoming people. It’s nothing personal against you, I am sure.” Dany tenderly caressed her tresses, and then squeezed her shoulders. The tender gesture and kind gaze reminded Rhaenys of her grandmother, Rhaella.

“Cold? This a frozen nightmare! I am the blood of the dragon, I am the daughter of the sun, it does not suit me. Did you see the way Lord Stark treated my father? Gods, I am so mad, I could-“ Rhaenys was abruptly cut short by Dany.

“No Rhae, don’t say that word, never”. Her aunt aimed her with a warning glare. ‘Mad’ was a touchy subject in her family, and Dany was more sensitive to it than all of them. Rhaenys nodded as a way of apologizing and Dany’s expression melted. “The consequences of the war will forever strain our relations with the North, I fear.”.

“ I had hoped to fix that by marrying their heir. Father would not oppose, and then I wouldn’t have to marry Egg. But now…” She didn’t need to continue, her aunt was very informed of the situation she was in.

Rhaenys was already seventeen, she was running out of time. If she wasn’t able to convince a proper suitor fast, father would force her – no, ‘heavily coerce her’ – to marry Egg, which was also the desire of her own brother, who believed their union was crucial to bring dragons back to the world through their children . She, on the other hand, was not interested in the slightest to continue the Targaryen tradition. She was used to the idea yes, it does not mean it was what she desired.

“You have an ally in Lady Catellyn, I overheard some of her conversation with your mother. She practically tried to sell Robert to you… Or buy you for him, depending how you look at these things.” Dany finished the fifth plait, and began the other.

“Doesn’t really matter. Her son is clearly happy with his bride, and showed no interest at all in me.” Rhaenys sighed, gazing her image in the mirror. _I am beautiful, I know it, then why no one ask for my hand? Arryn, Tyrels, Lannisters, Royces, Hightower, nothing… Only silence._ She resumed her original point.“The only other option would be Egg taking an interest in the Stark girl, but… It will not happen, she is dull at best.”

“Not dull, only a bit immature. She was enchanted with Egg. But I agree, he won’t look twice at her, not in that way. Well, even if he did…” Dany had no need to continue. Rhaenys fully understood her meaning. Even if he did, he would just had some fun with her and then move on, as if nothing happened. Aegon was not the kind who confused his flings with the duty of marriage.

“Try to find another”. Dany hugged her from behind, touching their cheeks tenderly. Rhaenys felt guilty for enjoying the sensation of the beautiful girl so close to her. “The north had always kept to themselves. They are no loss.”

_They are, actually, Robb Stark was one of my best options_. Nevertheless, she would never admit it aloud.

“You are right! Who cares about the North anyways? They have nothing we need nor want”.

___________________________________________

In the morning, after breakfast, they found Egg practicing swordplay with the northeners in the back coutyard. The little cute Starks boys were frolicking over Arthur Dayne and Jaime Lannister, while Arya Stark stood aside, uninterested of her surroundings. Daenerys and Rhaenys just found a comfortable spot to sit, wrapping themselves with the heavy pelt cloaks she much appreciated against the cold weather and observing the spars that took place.

Her brother was giving his best, as always, but Egg never was able to succeed in any physical activities. Still, to his credit, he always persisted. His opponent Robb Stark was clearly superior, and bested Aegon many times. So did the Stark’s ward – or hostage – Theon Greyjoy, an unpleasant weasel young man who had already made a pass on her. Rhaenys was grateful for Aegon easygoing demeanor.

“Are you well, my prince?” Robb asked his prince, without any actual interest. Egg was bent over his knees, breathing heavily and pale like a corpse. His forehead moist by sweat despite the lack of sun – a cold sweat. From her distance, Rhaenys could see how her brother struggle to conceal the tremble of his arms.

_The maester told him many times to not force himself like this…_

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Robert.” The northern heir grimaced, not appreciating Aegon’s use of his first name. “I am quite all right. You fight very well.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Robb Stark replied solemnly, blank to her brother’s amiable expression.

“So did you, my prince.” Sir Arthur Dayne added, while showing the Stark boys how to get a grin on Dawn. The famous knight truly liked Egg, and always supported him in his fighting endeavors, but his prince knew better.

“Sure, Arthur, I appreciate your little white lie.” Something caught his attention in the weapons stands. Egg walked to it and picked up some sort of sword. “Interesting looking blade,” He prompted, bringing it close to his face, then asked. “how is it used?”

Interesting indeed. It was more of a dagger, really, with slots cut along one side of the blade. Rhaenys was not well versed in swordplay – and neither wanted to be – but even she realized it was very bizarre. Robb Stark looked like he wanted to rip the dagger out from Aegon’s hands at the first moment, but quietly ignored his impulse.

“Do you know what it is Sir Arthur?” Jaime Lannister whispered to his fellow kingsguard, the knight as confused as he.

“No, never seen it before.” 

“That’s the bastard’s parrying dagger.” Theon Greyjoy answered her brother, a smug nasty smirk stuck on his fine-looking face. “Not a sword, your grace.”

“It’s _my brother_ ’s parrying dagger.” Robb Stark admonished Greyjoy with a stare.

_Brother? Which brother, Brandon or Rickon? Why such small boys needed such unusual dagger?_ Many questions popped Rhaenys mind at the same time, but she lacked the sufficient interest to actually ask them.

Instead, she observed the handsome golden Lannister lion examining the blade. “Never seen such thing before.” He said mesmerized. _Boys and their toys…_ She scoffed.

Perceiving none of the southerners would drop their interest over the dagger, Robb Stark finally explained, with a heavy sigh. “Jon likes to read a lot. He appeared with this dagger one day - told us he saw in a book. The entrances in the blade grab the enemy sword and pull it out of their hands, or shatter it, like a sword breaker.”

_Jon? Who is Jon?_ She never heard of anyone with that name. The Greyjoy hostage referred to the dagger’s owner as a bastard, to which the heir of Winterfell chastised straightway, so perhaps that’s why. Even so, she should had caught a glimpse of him by now. She glanced to Daenerys for any pointers, but her aunt just shrugged, as clueless as her.

The sword of the morning joined the conversation as well, joining in to the rest of the boys. “Sounds complicated to use in a real bout.” He took the dagger from Jaime and began to test the sloths in his own sword.

“It is,” Robert agreed. “but he can.”

“And where is your brother?” Dany asked in her stead.

“I think is half-brother, my princess.” The Lannister knight grinned wickedly, the sharp green eyes glistening with the typical Lannister pretentiousness. “The bastard of Winterfell, whom the so honorable Lord Eddard brought from the war. Then kept him here - very discreetly not to damage that brittle Stark’s pride. ” 

“My _brother_ ” Robert Stark snarled to Jaime Lannister glaring directly at him, and then addressing her aunt. “is not here.”

“Why not? Where is he?” Dany persisted.

“We don’t know. My father sent him to the Umbers when we heard news of your arrival. But he disappeared.” Rhaenys did not miss the glimpse of a lost gaze on Robert’s face when he declared that.

_After he received news of their arrival_ … She mused. So Lord Stark must had sent him to not embarrass himself before her family – or embarrass his wife perhaps. Is this why some of the Starks where sore with them, because the bastard was sent away? What blame they had? Rhaenys didn’t even care about such nonsense, she herself had eight bastard cousins much dear to her, daughters of aunt Oberyn. But then, in Dorne things were simpler than the rest of Westeros.

An unnerving silence fell upon them, the implication of what had just been said clear to all. This Jon was only a bastard, but clearly was very loved by his siblings.

“He will come back soon, I know”. Arya Stark manifest herself at last, though it was only a sad whisper. “Jon is just lost, but he will find the way back”.

Daenerys lean forward to whisper in her ear. “I think I heard whispers about this bastard. There is a rumor he is the son of lady Ashara and lord Stark, even if we know it’s not possible because of Jenny. Yet people say it’s because the bastard very beautiful, so he must be Ashara’s.”

Jenny Sand was the bastard daughter of lady Ashara Dayne and the deceased Brandon Stark – or so Ashara claimed - , and used to be one of her ladies in waiting before marrying Sir Cletus Yronwood, the heir of Yronwood. Despite the low birth, Jenny had enough of her mother’s legendary beauty to catch the eyes of the most powerful house in Dorne, only second to the Martells. Was it possible for Jeyne to have a twin?

She heard her brother asking for details of the bastard’s disappearance or the background, but was more interested in Dany’s gossip. “De he even look like her?” She whispered back to her aunt.

“I doubt people in the North had ever seen Ashara, but she is famous even here.” Dany replied.

The power of beauty was often underestimated, Rhaenys pondered to herself. She turned her attention back to her brother, who looked apologetic to the Starks siblings.

“I am so sorry, we didn’t know”. He said. “The loss of a brother must be very painful. I will talk to my father; maybe we can help you with the search.” He proposed, earning a surprised gawk from Robb Stark. The northerner was not expecting that much comprehension from the prince.

He bow slightly “Thank you my prince, truly.” And for the first time since their arrival, thanks to Egg, Robert Stark was genuinely glad with their presence.

* * *

#### RHAEGAR – Dying man’s tales.

Winterfell was just like he imagined from Lyanna’s tales. Always cold, covered in a white mantle of pure snow and packed with the weight of thousands of years of history. One of the first things he did upon arrival was to visit Winterfell’s crypts to pay respects to all those kings of winters – who ruled these lands for eight thousands years before any Targaryen set foot in Westeros –, followed by the lords who ruled after them. There were also Rickard and Brandon Stark who lost their lives at the hands of Rhaegar’s father, the Mad King. And, the most important of all, his wife Lyanna, the woman he loved beyond all reason. 

“I’m here, my love.” He caressed the face of her statue longingly. The artist possessed a sort of provincial talent, but was unable to offer a shred of justice to her beauty. _She should be holding a bundle, our daughter…_ He though in desolation.

He would talk to Lord Stark about it later. Their daughter shouldn’t be forgotten, even if she lived but a few moments. Was she buried in the Sept of Baelor, with the rest of his family, his little Visenya would had had an epitaph of her own. She ought to receive the same honors with her mother.

“I’m sorry, Lya. So sorry…” The king whispered to his beloved. “I love you; always will. And our Visenya. We will be together again one day… I never appreciated the thought of my mortality until the day I heard you were gone, can you imagine?” He smiled imagining Lyanna rolling her eyes, like she used to every time he got poetic. “When my time comes, I will embrace it satisfied, knowing I will see you again.”

He delayed his stay in the crypts for a while, pretending she could feel her; see her. But eventually the sensation of unwelcoming sent him away. _Not one of us_ , the kings seemed to say. _Enemy_ , Lord Rickard and his son accused him. The North as a whole hated his presence, and the crypts intensified that feeling a tenth fold.

_Not the most welcoming place_. His wife used to say about her homeland. _But you would like it. Your old soul would fall in love with those ancients walls…_

Rhaegar loved history, and Winterfell was full of it. Its library had parchments dated centuries old, many of which he suspected not even the Citadel had knowledge. The north was closed to itself, aware of outsiders, and kept its secrets closely guarded. The king spent some afternoons in the library, accompanied by the castle’s maester sometimes, but none could precisely decipher the strange language present in several of the particularly old parchments.

A hunch pointed to the children of the forest dialect, and old and extinct race who once had dealings with the first man. Lya told stories of how the children taught the humans the ways of the old gods, and how to nurture the magic existent in their blood. Rhaegar believed that, just like the valyrians, the first-men also had powerful magic in their blood, magic that helped them once to overcome a great evil. His great-uncle Aemon, a maester of the Night’s Watch with who he exchanged letters regularly, had his own findings about sorcery and the existence of wargs, all connected with the blood of the first-men. His uncle claimed the Wall itself was a testament to the sorcery the ancient kings of winter possessed, and such notion was a marvel to him.

Although he could spend the rest of his travel in the library as a happy man, eventually Rhaegar had to get back on trying to talk to Lord Stark and dealing with the rest of his god-brother’s family. Lady Catellyn Stark tired him with her incessant insinuations about wedding her children with one of his own.

If Aegon or Rhaenys really wished, he would allow them to take one of the Stark’s children instead of each other; it was a good match and the north brought some important alliances with them. But he doubt it would happen.

Eddard Stark was another problem. Due to his deeds in the past, Rhaegar had to be lenient with him, but the man was making sure to test his will. Since his arrival, lord Stark had been cold and distant to the point it was just rude.

“I see the warehouses are well stocked”. He said, observing the servants carrying sacks of grain into the building. Rhaegar was strolling in the fortress accompanied by Lord Eddard and his kingsguard, sir Jonothor Darry.

“Winter is coming.” Came the bland response, matched with the stoic face.

“Is this all for the winter?” Rhaegar asked lamely.

“Yes, your grace.”

_Fair enough. A stupid answer for a stupid question._

_Not that lord Eddard is making this any easier…_

Rhaegar needed a breach to speak about the reason for his coming to the North, but Eddard Stark was making conversation an impossible goal. He wasn’t usually this patient, but this was Lya’s brother. What his family caused the Starks could never be ratified.

In the corner of his eye he caught the glimpse of Arya Stark once again running with her friends, holding a stick in her hands like one would do with a sword. The first time he saw her it blew his mind with wonder and horror at the same time, so much he just stared at the girl for a long moment emotionless. Even now, her vision troubled him; had his little Visenya lived, she could look just like Arya Stark. She was a petit child, with a long face and big grey eyes, but had so much of her aunt that for a brief moment Rhaegar really assumed the gods have gifted his child back to him, when he first crossed the gates of Winterfell.

Lost in his mind – or brooding others would call – he missed the soldier running in their direction.

“My lord!” The man spoke with lord Stark, but hastily offered a bow when he saw the king. “Your highness. We received news from the Night’s Watch. It seems we have some deserters.”

“How many this time?”. Inquired the warden of the north.

“Only one. He is in the east waiting, past the Crofters’ Village in the Wolfswood.”

“Very well, Jory”. Eddard voice sounded tired, whatever was ‘waiting’ for him was difficult. “Saddle the horses immediately and call my sons, I will go immediately.”

Rhaegar had the distinct impression lord Stark was about to turn his back to him, and walk away if he had not asked. “What is this about, Lord Stark?”

“Excuse me, my king,” The man answered, not apologetic at all. “I must go oversee the sentence. The men who pass the sentence must swing the sword, as my predecessors lectured.”

_So it is an execution_. He pondered. Naturally, deserters of the Night’s Watch were executed…

“You’ll take your sons for what reason?” That question earned him an even more bored look from the stern noble.

“To teach ‘em what real responsibility is like.” A swift reply. Although it was harsh, Rhaegar found it reasonable.

“I see. I will go as well with my son.” He decided.” It’s only appropriate that the king oversee over the Night’s Watch matters, while I am here at least.”

Ned Stark contested. “There is no need, my king. You stay here while I-“. With a movement of the hand, Rhaegar cut him right way, a menacing glare in his face.

_Did he just try to order me?_ Rhaegar wondered exasperated. _That’s it…_

“I said I ‘m going, my lord. Did not ask for your permission, nor will I ever do such. I fear you may not have heard it correctly.” He said severely, the exasperation building up in him finally bursting.

The northman let out some of surprise slip through his composed face, but recovered quickly. “As you wish, your grace”.

Eddard Stark. (Author: ??)

___________________________________________

After a two-hour trip, they reached a little hill amidst the Wolfswood, where some of the Stark’s men were stationed. The man of the Night’s Watch was brought to them in chains, mumbling to himself all the way. Rhaegar couldn’t discern what he was saying, but he caught two words: ‘white walkers’.

The young man stood in front of a wooden stump - which would serve as the chopping block - thin, dressed in rags and covered in sooth. Whatever he was running from, was frightening enough to make the lad neglect his own subsistence.

“I know I broke my oath. And I know I’m a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them. But I saw what I saw”. He was terrified, no doubt. Dazed even. But not crazy. “ I saw the white walkers. People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell them I’m no coward. Tell them I’m sorry.”

Rhaegar went pale. _The long night. The white walkers_. He read about it, dreamed about it. He chased whatever he could find for their savior: the prince that was promised. He considered himself the promised prince once, when he was a child. Then he thought his son were going to be the savior, alongside Rheanys and his Visenya. They would wake the dragons back to world and fight the long night together, with fire and blood. But Visenya died with her mother, his Lyanna, his love. And little by little, so did his dreams.

He abandoned such thoughts, tried hard to forget such delusions. And now this. He glanced at his son and noticed Aegon as distressed as him. It was his fault; he put his ideas in his son’s head when he was too little, created unreasonable expectations in the boy, and years after Rhaegar knew Egg pursued it like himself did once.

He wanted to console Aegon, but before he could do it Lord Stark handed him Ice, the ancestral valyrian greatsword of house Stark. He woke up from his reflections and stared at the man query.

“I only pass the sentence in your name, my king. Now that you are here I presume you want to take on this duty.” Rhaegar should have known something like it would be expected.

_At least he not trying to overrule my position again._ He thought.

“Yes, certainly.” The king positioned himself besides the frightful man, knelt with his neck on a wooden stump, and pronounce the words. “I, Rhaegar of the House Targaryen, first of my name, king of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm, sentence you to die”.

The valyrian blade, truth to it’s valor, cut fast and swift.

___________________________________________

On the way back to Winterfell, Aegon and Robb decided for an amicable horse race, running ahead of the party. It seems his son managed to charm the Stark’s heir, despite the initial cold demeanor of the boy. If only Rheagar had half of such gift... Aegon’s friendly talent of dealing with people was all from his mother.

Thefather was a lost cause, but the son…. Might be the key to reestablish good relations with the north. Northerner dumb pride and stubbornness.

“My son told me you recently lost your boy, Lord Stark, that he vanished without a trace.”. He sought to make conversation, but lord Stark stiffened in the saddle.

“He is just wandering around your grace. He does that sometimes. He will be back soon, I am sure.” Rhaegar was certain the boy was missing, not ‘wandering around’.

“I can help with the search, send some scouts, use my contacts for any rumors. How old is he? Fourteen?” He insisted.

“There is no need”. Came the swift and nonchalantly answer. “Thank you your highness.”

Rhaegar didn’t understand what made the northerner so uncomfortable. He was just offering aid to locate his son, surely the man missed him, even if the boy was a bastard he was still his child. The king loved his son and daughter dearly; he could not imagine not doing so if they were bastards.

“Did he run away or you fear a kidnapping?” Rhaegar asked. No one would waste his or her time kidnapping a natural son. So most likely, he ran away.

“He went on his own volition,” Eddard Stark confirmed his suspicion. “but he will be back. He must.”

Rhaegar tried but couldn’t read the man’s face. Was that guilt perhaps? Maybe fear? Hard to say. It was very possible the boy ran due to mistreatment in his home. Bastards were everywhere, and they were scorned in the most places. It was the harsh and wretched reality of the world.

The conversation had led to an uncomfortable situation. Time to change the subject.

“The deserter. He talked about White Walkers. Don’t you find it worrying?”

“Nay, the white walkers have been gone for thousands of years. But a madman see what he sees. You know that better than most, my king.”

“I do.” Rhaegar said quietly. He knew because of his father Aerys II, the Mad King. Not a good subject either.

“Father!” Brandon Stark rushed his horse towards them, shouting in excitement. “Come see what Robb found out!”

The boy guided them to a clearing slightly ahead of them, near the main road. There was a dead stag in the center, its guts splashed over the floor, but the freshness indicated it died recently. The stag’s antlers, however, took his killer’s life: a gigantic wolf laid by its side, the neck had been pierced profoundly so the beast died fast. _Not any beast_ , Rhaegar observed, _but a rare direwolf_.

“Direwolfs don’t wander this side of the wall.” The Greyjoy lad said with a frown, while they circled the animal’s bodies.

“Well, this one did, Theon.” Responded the boy sardonic.

Robb Stark wandered off to a spot among some bushes and knelt down carefully. “Look, she had cubs”. He announced, lifting newborn cubs into their vision. They were so small that some still had their eyes closed. His brothers eagerly joined him and held the cubs, bringing them closer. Rhaegar had to admit; even he was a little envious, the little direwolves were adorable…

_Today the Starks find direwolves, maybe tomorrow the Targaryens find hatchlings_. He thought amused.

Eddard Stark, on the other hand, was not so cheery. “They won’t survive the winter without his mother”. He lectured his sons. “Give them a quick death, it’s the most merciful thing to do”.

_Lord Stark just want to kill this magical creatures?_ Rhaegar would have protested if the boys weren’t ahead of him. All except one.

Theon Greyjoy grabbed a cub out from Rickon Stark’s arm and held a dagger menacingly close to it, despite the boy’s objection. “Give them here, I will do it”. He said smirking. Aegon swiftly clasped his arm with the dagger before he could harm the cub, and yanked the weapon out, turning to lord Stark.

“My lord, there are five cubs here, you have five children”. Rhaegar stood aside in silence, waiting to see how his son would handle that. _Without counting the natural son, it’s true. Five wolves for five children._ “Direwolfs are the sigil of your house, just as dragons are of mine. What are the chances of such rare animals appear in our way, and your heir spot them, if not by the will of the gods? It is clear for me they are a gift meant for your children, they should have ‘em.”

The boys looked at Aegon with eyes full of gratitude. Rhaegar himself smiled discreetly, full of pride for his heir. If he knew how Egg would have turned out, he would have named him Jaehaerys after the conciliator, and not Aegon.

Lord Stark sighed, admitting his defeat.

“Very well”. He conceded, shaking his head. “You will raised them yourselves, feed them yourselves, and if they die, bury them yourselves”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The fact that Aegon cares and offers to help to find his bastard brother means A LOT to Robb. That Aegon’s strength by the way, to listen and relate with people.
> 
> Rhaenys is bold, and also a bit of a bitch. She guards some resentment for her father and Lyanna Stark, and hence the North.
> 
> *So… no Ghost? Yeah, sorry. I tried to think of many ways to have him in the history, but… Well, Jon is not a dog’s person here so I guess it fits. I even thought about giving ghost to Ashara’s daughter. It may happen still.
> 
> Image "Rheanys" here: https://www.deviantart.com/sharandula/art/Leticia-Rivero-Captain-Golden-Heart-285747953  
> Image "Eddard" here https://co.pinterest.com/pin/461056080598718885/


	10. Elia - The beauty of the North.

#### ELIA – The beauty of the North.

How I picture Elia. (author:BellaBelgorts).

The queen could happily spent the rest of her life looking at this landscape. The cold of the North did not agree with her dornish blood, but oh… It was beautiful. Hills of the purest white, which reflected the sunbeams in colors of various shades, transformed Winterfell into a land of shining diamonds. Besides, Elia took particular interest in the Godswood, home of the mystical weirdwood tree. She was a learned woman, well versed in the history of the first men and the children of the forest: the keepers of such trees. How many mysteries of the world were safeguard by those trees, deep within their roots? She wondered.

She would be in the Goodswood in this exact moment, if her husband had not dragged her to the stables to show off his new present from lord Stark.

“What so you think of her, a beauty hein?” Rhaegar asked joyfully, displaying a sturdy and pitch black northern mare. It was a remarkable creature, Elia had to admit; not very fast, given its size, but tall and brawny, with kind doe eyes. 

However, he disrupted her plans so she would not admit it. “Dornish steeds are the best in Westeros, everyone knows it.”

“Is that envy in your voice, my queen?” Rhaegar provoked her with a side smile.  
  


“Not at all”. She lied. “How do you named her?” 

Some considered Rhaegar to excel at everything he set his mind to, but these people never saw him trying to name something. He named a cat ‘cat’, and his last horse ‘horse’. Their children received the most common name a member of house Targaryen could have, for that was how far her husband’s ability went. For a poet and a singer, it was disastrous.

After some reflection, nothing came out. “Hmm. Hors… No. Maybe mar… No, that’s not good”. 

“How about Winter?”. She took pity on him.

“Winter…” He pretended to think about the suggestion. “Good enough, Winter it is.” The king stroke the horse’s flank some more before addressing her. “Did lady Stark hound you about marriages as well?”

“Oh yes, many times. But she did try to be discreet about it.”

Rhaegar scoffed, cleaning his hands in his wine doublet. Elia winced at the sight of such beautiful fabric been used that way, but it was better than the ink that usually stained his clothes. At least his long hair was held in a single braid, instead of loose as usual, so the snow and dust did not stick easily. Because if it did, her husband would just pass his hand all over and clean in his clothes as well.

Oblivious to her exasperation, he spoke. “I wished she wasn’t. If only lady Catellyn came to me and just tell what she wants, I could say no, and we would be over this.”

The wedding of their children was something they never agreed on. However Elia didn’t want to argue with him about it again, so she changed the topic of their conversation, whilst they walked to the main hall.

“Jon sent any message?”

Jon Connigton didn’t have any love for Elia. He despised her at best. Nevertheless, he adored Rhaegar, loved him even. Loved too much. Therefore, she trusted his work as the Hand of the King above any other lord of the realm.

“He did. Lorath agreed to our proposal. When I get Eddard Stark’s approval we can start building the ships.”

_What a fleet it will be. A worthy legacy for our children._ The queen thought.

Her husband’s dream was to build a big merchant fleet, which the realm could use to transport its goods to the free cities. Nowadays, Westeros depended mostly of the Bravosi and Volantine ships to commercialize with Essos, which caused an increase of their prices in the foreign market. To avert the situation, Rhaegar made deals with the merchant guilds of various free cities in order to break the monopoly over the seas.

The plan was simple: various cities such as Lorath, Myr, Tyrosh and Pentos would lend the coin for the building of the fleet, and the crown would lend such ships for an agreeable price until the payment of the debt, besides allowing their products into Westerosi market with lesser taxes.

One important step in the plan was to secure a stable and large supply of wood for the flotilla, one of the most important commodities of the North. If only their relations weren’t so strained, the king could just had sent a letter to the lord of Winterfell.

Elia admired Rhaegar’s cunning and ambition, but she feared for the future. For every step one make into progress, other will try to stop it. _To hope everything will go smoothly is pure naivety, and that the crown cannot afford._

“You haven’t talked to him about your plan yet?” She asked dumbfounded. That was the primarily reason for their coming to the North.

“I was trying to make peace, the man hates me, it is obvious, and it won’t change.” He sighed. “But I got tired of it, I am the king and that he understands very well. I will talk to him tonight.”

___________________________________________

Her stay in Winterfell was almost at it’s end, and for these last days Elia decided to enjoy the serenity of the Goodswood as much as possible. In her way there, however, she bumped into her son, who was distracted running from something.

“Mom,” He looked relieved, upon realizing it was her. “you have to help me.”

“In what, dear?” She caressed his silver tresses, not really preoccupied with his fear. Egg had a flair for theatrics.

“The girl, Sansa, she won’t stop botherin’ me. Wherever I go, she is right next to me. It’s exhaustive. No, it’s more than that; it’s scary!”; He whispered like it was dangerous to say it out loud, wide lilac eyes with fear.

Elia giggled and look behind her son. He was right; Lady Sansa was near, along with her direwolf puppy – a cute little thing named _Lady_ -, but tried to disguise her stalking by grabbing some flowers on the ground.

“How sweet. She is infatuated with you. You must have done something right, you charming ladiesman.” Her son was no saint. He beguiled many women around the Red Keep, and Elia knew he bedded more than one servant since he began to notice women.

_Only the gods can protect us from more blackfire bastards…_

“I was just being gentle. Didn’t want her harassing me.” He whined.

Despite the silver hair and lilac eyes typical of the Targaryens, Aegon resembles Elia’s family the most. More specifically, her brother Oberyn, a known hedonistic rogue, who fathered no less than eight bastard daughters while refusing to marry. All that thanks to his unique charm and winning smile, which could melt a woman’s heart – or man’s – in a slit second. Her son had the same way with words and mischievousness that attracts people, and he knew how to use it.

“Don’t you find her pretty?” Elia had hoped Aegon took interest in Lord Stark daughter. She heard the girl was beautiful, and if Aegon liked her she could persuade Rhaegar to abandon the ridiculous idea of marrying their children one another.

“She is but… I don’t know. She is only a girl.” _Said the grown fifiteen-year-old man…_

“For now, but girls grow. Just talk to her a bit. _Really_ try some conversation with her. Maybe she can be your future queen.”

“Mom, Rhaenys is my future queen.” Elia cringed at that.

“You don’t know for sure. Give her a chance, or be honest with the girl about your discomfort with her behavior. In any way you have to face your problems Aegon”.

“Fine, fine…” He sighed. “You are right, I can talk to her some more. Maybe take a walk in the village.”

Elia observed he fix his hair and straighten his clothes, all very clean and tidy. Her son was vain – in a good way – and she enjoyed seeing him always so well groomed, like any mother would.

_Good, another quality he takes after Oberyn. Because Rhaegar…. Gods… Not even close._

“That’s a great idea.” She complimented him. “You do it then, talk to her some more. You may be surprised.”

___________________________________________

She found two people near the Weirwood tree. One was the younger lady Stark, Arya, but she didn’t recognize the senior man next to her. They were both crouched, entertained over some plants around the pound, and did not notice her arrival. 

“Hello.” She lifted her skirts and crossed a delicate path made of pebbles to their position. “Excuse me; I hope I am not interrupting any prayers?”

The senior arose to greet her, wiping his grey tunic from the grime. “Not at all your grace. I was just trying to teach Arya here some properties about the herbs.” He pointed to some plants scattered in the grown. She identified some of them: tansy, mint, wormwood and ohh… pennyroyal - an abortificient.

“Are you winterfell’s maester, sir?” A maester he obviously was, the tunic and chain necklace denounced him as a scholar from Old Town.

“Maester Luwin, my queen.” He replied politely.

The girl stepped forward, unwilling of being ignored. “I am Arya.”

“I know you, lady Stark. But since we are making introductions again, I am Elia”. She smiled to the little Stark, and to her surprise received a smile back.

_Such a strange spirituous thing_. She was dressed in boy’s clothing - dry clay all over her pants. Of all the Stark children, Arya was who most resembled the classical Stark looks: dark hair, grey eyes, pale skin and a long face. _She reminds her aunt, yes. A bit rougher around the edges, though…_

“I admit I lost myself in the fortress enough times to be embarrassed.” She japed to the girl. “Such a big place.”

Arya Stark agreed with a shake of the head. “It’s all very open. If you go there you reach the courtyard”. The girl pointed to one direction. “There is the kitchen”. Another direction. “And just in that wall is the entrance to the cripts”.

_The cripts?_ Elia wondered for some time if it was appropriate. It was so near…

“Could you accompany me to the crypts?” She asked hopeful to her two new companions.

They seemed caught by surprise, but the maester agreed. “Naturally, my queen. Follow me.”

He led her to the gloomy doors of the ancient crypts of Winterfell, before probing. “May I ask your grace about the interest in such dark place? Maybe I can satisfy your curiosity.”

The queen mused for an instant, searching for the better way to explain herself. “The war was not so long ago, I remember it clearly, and I lived through it: hearing the screams and whispers, fearing the shadows...”. A heavy sigh, she was going to places in her memory better to stay buried. The Mad King was not a subject she wanted to discuss. “ Lord Rickard and his son Brandon died right there at the throne room, in the Red Keep. I was in my own bedroom at the time, but sometimes I wonder if the small sound I heard were not their howls of pain. So many people died… I… I just want to pay my respects.”

The maester seemed to understand her broken speech, and with an understanding look dropped the topic. “Of course, your grace”.

Lady Arya took great pleasure in lecturing Elia about the names of her ancestors buried there. Folk were used to overlook the fact that the Starks were by far the oldest house in all Westeros, with eight thousand years of memory and history. There were many legends about the magic of their blood - the power of the ancient kings of winter - all slowly forgotten as time elapsed. The queen however, just like her husband, appreciated history, and offered the due respect.

She bid some prayers before the tombstones of lord Rickard and his son, Bradon. They didn’t follow the Light of the Seven, but it was the best Elia could offer. Then she found Lyanna Stark’s grave.

“This is my aunt Lyanna.” Arya explained. “She was raped and killed in a war.”

The stoic comment disturbed Elia, who quickly turned to the girl. _This is what the northerns say about Rhaegar, that he raped her?_

_Or it is what Eddard Stark say…?_

“No Arya,” The maester was ahead of her, mortified by the girl’s slip before the queen. “what happened to your aunt was…”. He searched for the words, but it was no easy to explain what really happened in the rebellion. “a horrible misunderstanding.”

Elia could not put it better herself. That whole war was a series of horrible misunderstandings.

The focused on the statue of Lyanna’s likeness again, and resolved it didn’t do her justice. The she-wolf was extremely beautiful, Elia remember it well, second only to her friend Ashara Dayne. Robert Baratheon was beaming with pride at the tourney alongside his astonishing bride. Rhaegar was captivated as soon his gaze fell upon those silver eyes, flowing dark hair and willow figure. He later fell in love by the fierceness and liveliness of the northern maiden; her opposite in many ways.

Elia didn’t resent him for that. They never fell in love with which other, always stuck in friendship and a cold marriage bed. They did try in the beginning. On her part, Elia very much appreciated the beautiful and courtly silver prince to whom she was betrothed; Rhaegar Targaryen was every maiden’s dream for marriage and only two years younger than her. Nevertheless, as time passed their passion grew cold, too suffocated by the king malice and the expectations placed on them – on _her health_. She had her own memories of a loved one left behind in Sunspear before her wedding, but Rhaegar had nothing.

Even so, she didn’t expect him to take Lyanna as his second wife and run away to Dorne with her. She didn’t care for his infatuation at all, but a second queen - especially one so loved by the future king - would compromise Elia’s position and her children’s future. Elia lied to everyone who dared to ask ever since, but the truth is she never had given her approval for his marriage to Lyanna – Rhaegar hadn’t even asked.

And for that, she did harbor resentment.

But that did not mean she desired for the girl’s death. Some remember Lyanna as the sultry northern maiden for whom a war was fought; others as a poor girl abducted and killed somewhere. All Elia saw was a young fourteen-year-old girl, who fell in love with the young prince, and paid a heavy price for it.

“The statue don’t do her justice.” She remarked to no one.

“Did you know my aunt?” Arya asked.

“Only by afar. She died in childbirth, right maester?. _Not ‘killed in a war’._

“Yes, you grace. I received her body and prepared it for the burial. A maester can identify those wounds anywhere. She was too young to have a child”. The maester looked fearful, immediately regretting what he said, afraid to have trespassed some boundary. But Elia was not one to shy away from the truth. Neither were the dead.

_Maidens all over Westeros are too young to marry and have children, but they are doing so anyway. I was one of the lucky ones._

“I assume the child is here too?”

“The child?” The man inquired confused.

“Her stillborn baby, maester”. She explained. “I know it’s not a costume to give a stillborn a proper burial, but it was a prince or princess. I presume it is here as well?”

“But… Your grace,” He stared her strangely, Elia felt a chill down her spine. “there was no child”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Elia and Rheagar are good friends. Her husband had an agenda to traveling to the north – for the wood – and it was not about marriages.
> 
> About Lyanna Stark… It’s complicated. A small part of her can’t help but feel relief that the wolf-maiden is dead, and there aren’t any children from her to compete with Aegon and Rhaenys (scoff, scoff). The bigger part – for Elia is gentle to the core – is ashamed of that relief, and wished better for that poor fifteen-year girl in love. Kinder people are forgiving, and Elia is not poisoned by resentment. It happened. It’s over. Let it go, y’know?
> 
> Image "Elia" here:https://www.pinterest.es/pin/215117319688372897/
> 
> Elia is a princess. She was raised to marry and be satisfied with it, even without loving the man. This Elia is kind, intelligent, but she is not some cunning badass. That’s how I perceive her.


	11. Jon - I want to be a soldier.

#### JON – I want to be a soldier.

Free city of Lys - 298 AL.

Lys, The Lovely.

Pentos was glorious. Jon have never seen so many people in one single place, so much noise, movement and life in its markets and harbors. He stayed only one week before heading to Lys, but enjoyed it as much he could. The only downside was the smell. Many people meant lots of open sewage, plus the fish markets in the harbor, and the heath didn’t help with the problem, unlike the North. It was worth though; Jon decided big cities were his new favorite places from now on.

Therefore, he loved Lys as well, which managed to be even more glorious than Pentos. The city was an impressive, with its large buildings of all kinds circling the shores of the island, fountains amidst mirrors of water all over the city and little flowered gardens here and there. Lys ‘The Lovely’ was built for the pleasure of the ancient dragonlords, and it showed.

His mission was the find the recruiters of the Golden Company, or even better, their leaders. For that purpose, he had spent a great deal for the past three days in taverns trying to catch any rumors, or make conversation about their location. Jon had to kiss Maester Luwin’s ass in the mouth for teaching him valyrian if he returned one day.

“Hey you.”. Jon approached one tough looking guy, in his thirties, with a sword tied around his waist. This was the second tavern of the day, and the nastier of the two, but Jon realized soldiers liked to hang around in the place. “The name is Jon. Know of any work around here?”.

The man glanced at him uninterested, and shook his head. “No way. You pretty, but I’m don’t sit at the back of the boat”.

“What?”

“I said I am not interested.” He gritted his teeth. “Fuck off, whore”.

That riled him up. “Not a whore, asshole.” He said out loud slamming his hand on the table. The tavern voices went down, people stopping to pay attention to them. “Say that again! C’mon, I dare ye!”

“Ow, calm down, young ‘un.” Another armed older man came near them, bearded and worn looking, holding a tankard that he put in the table. “Bracham, who’s ‘tis?” He asked the cunt who called him a whore.

The man answered still glaring at Jon. “Some brat in needin’ a whoppin’, who cares?”

“My name is Jon Snow”. He directed to the second man, the older of the two. “I am lookin’ for some work. Mercenary. Noticed you are well armed, sure you know something ‘round”.

“Mercenary? You? Do you even know how to fight, lad? How old are ye? This is not some game!” He frowned, not sure he heard right.

“Fourteen and yes, I can fight, and better than most. I am _not_ some whore.” He added out of spite while staring angry at that ‘Bracham’ guy. But the other bearded soldier wasn’t convinced.

“You can’t blame ‘im for mistakin’ you. Common, this is Lys! Just look at you.”

Fair enough. Jon had been mistaken for a prostitute more than once since his arrival. And this _is_ Lys, famous for its pillow houses and beautiful pleasure slaves. Better just stop stressing over it.

He continued. “Name is Lazos Birny, from Norvos. This ugly bugger here is Bracham, from nobody really cares. What you want here really?”

“Heard the Golden Company is here. Want to try my chances with ‘em.” Jon admitted.

Both men stooped and glanced each other. _Good, they know something_.

“Golden Company, eh?” Lazos scoffed, then shook his head. “Cut the bullshit. You are fourteen, go back to whence you came and grow some chest hair ‘fore askin’ for trouble.”

Jon panicked. He had to find a way to convince them. _Time of the trial by combat_.

“Dinnae believe me? Meet me outside, I’ll show ye.”

Lazos didn’t bite. “Not in the habit of amusing children. I said no.”

“Wait, Lazos. I think we have some time”. Bracham smirked jeering. “I offer myself for the charity to teachin’ this brat a lesson. Let’s go outside”.

These men could get him to the company, he was sure of it. All Jon had to do was beat this asshole to the ground. He drew his sword.

“Promise to go easy with you, sweet thing.” His adversary taunted.

“Doubt you can do any different, grandpa.” He mocked back, what only made the man more irritated.

Beating him was not near as easy as Jon expected. His pride would be his downfall one day. Bracham swinged, striked and slashed faster and stronger than any foe Jon had before – not that he had many outside the training ground. Bracham was an experienced sellsword after all, but in the end, Jon feigned an attack from the right and used the window to hit his face with the pommel of the sword. He won. Barely.

“GODS FUCKING DAMMIT!”. Bracham screamed kneeled in the ground, holding his nose that Jon had broken.

“HAHAHAHA”. The other sellsword burst into laughter, and turned to Jon grinning. “You are not so bad, boy. Actually you are very good, a natural.”

“I am”. He retorted proudly. “Will make a name for meself soon. Just give me somethin’ to work with.” The boy stuck the point of his sword in the ground, leaning on it with a layback attitude.

“Look, it’s not that easy. The Golden Company don’t hire fourteen years old. No matter how good. That’s for scums like the Maiden’s Men or Brave Companions. ” Lazos helped Bracham up and they start to walk down the streets.

“Will hire me. Just take me to your commander. I know you are one of ‘em. Saw their sigil - the skulls with the lance - in your handkerchief coming out of your pocket.” Lazos looked at his pocket, scuffed and shoved the kerchief back inside.

_So the sellswords of the Golden Company have personalized embroidered handkerchiefs… Cute._

“Right, you caught me. Bracham and I are part of the guard of general-captain Harry Strickland. But the Golden Company is not in Lys, this city cannot comport ten thousand soldiers plus the elephants. They are in a camp, near Myr. Just some of the leaders are here in the ships near the harbor, due to….” He stopped himself unsure about divulging their activities.

“Tell him,” The other encouraged. “what’s the difference? It’s not some big secret anyway”. It seems Jon gained some point with Bracham after his victory. _If breaking noises is the secret to make friends here, I will be aye._

“We worked for months with the Gallant Men defending Quarth against some dothraki savages.” Lazos began the story deadpanned. “Gylesso Mopirah, their scumjug of a leader, was hired first, and then he decided to call for backup and that is how Strickland got into the deal. Fuckin’ Mopirah offered half of the contract, and when got time to pay up he gave said amount. But Harry is no fool. He talked to Quarth’s high men and discovered we should have been paid twice of what that twat told us.”

“What Strickland expected!?” Bracham yelled exasperated. “Mopirah is Tyroshi. You can’t trust a fucking Tyroshi!”

“Yeah… well, now we came here after him. But it’s difficult. Mopirah is protected in Lys, he has trade with some important families here: the Rogares and Nahohrs, among others. Harry tried, but he can’t get to him.”

“Why just not send some assassins?” Jon inquired.

Bracham shoved a man in his way to the ground. A slave - by the tattoo of flies on his cheek, most used in Volantis, but common in Lys - responsible for cleaning the city of the horses’ dung. Slavery was the ugly side of Essos. _So much for ‘free’ cities._

“We want his head _and_ the money”. He said, after spiting in the slave. “Death to prove a point, coin to get paid. We can’t trust any fuckin’ assassin’s guild; they may run away with the coin.”

“I see…” Jon nodded pensive.

“I can get you to meet Harry,” Lazos mentioned, eyeing the northern sideways. “but it will be for naught, just get my word on it.”

Jon believed him. He had to prove his worth in a better way before going to the general-captain. The information had given him an idea.

“Where is this Mopirah?”

“Why? Want to get him? Hahahaha, you are an arrogant little shit hein?” Lazos japed, but shared what he knew anyway. “We do know he has a house in the east part of the island. He is also fond of the pillow house of Madam Vassah, sweetened tea and a watered beer that tastes like piss.”

Bracham mocked disgusted. “Uhum, always with his head between some whore’s legs, that one. It the reason why he lives in fuckin’ Lys in the first place. Sleeps ‘round with anythin’, boy whore or lass. Bloody buggerer.” He spat in the ground angry, but his friend just shrugged.

“Fuck that. Lys exist for it. The problem is his very-well protected hide, surrounded with guards are all times.”

Jon nodded, a renewed purpose in his heart. “I’ll find a way.”

___________________________________________

The Gallant Men’s general lived in an extravagant palace in the east of the city, not some house. _Do the sellswords of his company gain proportionally to this_? He contemplated while observing the place. _Tempting._

At first, Jon had the idea of disguising himself as a guard of the palace. A ridiculous idea it turns out. The guards knew each other, and he sure as hell didn’t look like one. Such disguise could work only briefly. On the other hand, since he arrived in Lys, he was mistaken now and then for a prostitute. A noble Lysene, upon seeing him, even offered a small fortune for his favor. It was time to use that.

Madam Vassah’s pillow house was simply one of the most fancy and expansive brothel that Lys had to offer, and the prostitutes there were actually bed slaves. For decades, the pillow house breed beautiful slaves to try to produce even more beautiful offspring; practice really common in Lys. And it worked. Some of her “products” were inhumanly beautiful, with the prominent desired valyrian features. If Lys was already famous for their beautiful, silver haired population, these slaves had to represent the epitome of their glory.

The house was big, and there were dozens of slaves in it. People all over the world passed through every day to have a good time, therefore one single teenager walking between the tables and curtains of the foyer didn’t draw much attention. Jon sneaked to one of the rooms in the back and put on some of the revealing clothes the slaves wore: a short white tunic, open in the sides and in the front, leather sandals and some fancy belt and bracelets. He also took care to draw the tear on his left cheek - not necessary in Lys, but added to the character. His reflection on the polished metal on the wall scared him: an incredibly beautiful lad gazed back, with pale silver eyes, straight black hair and fair skin, high cheekbones on sharp features, tall and lean. Damn, he saw what people were talking now; he did look like a Lysene boy whore. _Goddamn…_

“Who are you?” Jon almost jumped caught off guard by a young lass, all silver hair and purple eyes. Her clothes denounced her as one of the pillow house’s slaves.

“Hi. I am Jae”. He presented himself friendly. “Was looking for some oil for my skin. Sorry, is this yours?” Jon held a vial with aromatic olive oil in front of her.

_Wow, she is beautiful_. The realization came as he glanced down her neck, to the direction of the small perk breasts, ill covered by the thin fabric. _Focus Jon, you avoid girls until now, terrible time to start_.

“No. Of course not, this belong to the house”. She tilted her head curious, and Jon had a hard time not to stare at her plump pink lips. “Never seen you before.”

“Oh, yeah, I was bought this mornin’. My master got tired and sold me to the madam.”

“Really? I am so sorry.” A sad frown befell in her pretty face, so Jon assumed she bought his lie. “He must have got mad to get tired of you. You’ll make a lot of success here, don’t worry.” _Does she really think this would cheer me? This is so sad..._ “My name is Nessya, by the way.”

“Thank you, Nessya.” He smiled with all his charm and she blushed and lowered her eyes. “I admit I am a really nervous to come out of here, don’t know what awaits me.”

“Did you ever service anyone before?”

_‘Service’ means fuck in whorish I suppose._

“Oh yes, naturally. My master came to see me almost every night. But it was only him.”

Nessya nodded, understanding. “It’s hard in the beginning, but you will get used to it. We stop caring in time.”

Confident he had won her sympathy, Jon threw his bait. “Madam confided to me that an estimated guest will be here tonight. Mopirah, If I recall... She said I should try him.”

“Mopirah? He is always here this day of the week. Get some boys and girls and take to his house. They only return the next day.” Jon knew that, it was the reason he chose today.

“Can you help me get into his group?” Jon stepped closer to the girl, only a smudge of space remaining between them. She was surprised, but not displeased. “I don’t want to displease the Madam.” He said softly.

“I can try, sure”. Her breathing deepened, head inclined up to stare his eyes. “He is the one who chooses the group, but I can take you close to him.”

“Thank you so much, Nessya”. Jon led his hand to trailed her cheek and placed a feather kiss on her lips. A small kindness for someone he doubted was in the receiving end of true affection. “I will be forever grateful”.

___________________________________________

He arrived at the palace alongside two other lads and four girls. Mopirah was right ahead, and there were guards everywhere outside the building. He was a strong man, in his thirties, with a bush black beard and small eyes. Jon needed a way to be alone with him.

They were guided to an intimate medium size room, furnished with couches, tables and carpets. Mopirah reunited with some other guests, and the prostitutes began to serve them the meal place on the main table. Sometimes the men would sneak their hands on their asses or thighs; one old perv grabbed the youngest girl and sat her on his lap, in which she hand-fed him while he fondled her bosom or between her legs. Another one grasped a blonde lad, undressed him and slapped his ass to the amusement of the others. He tried to do the same with Jon, but he wiggle out of his hold with a fake giggle. He tried to ignore the touches and to pay attention to their conversation, but it was all gibberish.

It was getting dangerous. The meal was at its end and soon the whores would be taken to the beds of the guests, but Jon had to be the one chosen by Mopirah. Deciding to take the risk, Jon whispered an old lullaby to himself, taking a silk scarf that decorated the sofa. He closed his eyes and started to dance sensually, moving his hips and his hands towards his own body, the scarf complementing his movements, swaying along his song. For the spectators it would seem he was in a trance, stuck in a world of pleasure, his head moving slowly with his hips, raising his arms and ranking his hands through his hair – as he imagined a lover would do, even if he knew next to nothing about such things.

_What the fuck am I doing? I just hope it works._

He opened his eyes and found the men staring at him, pure desired and lust clear in their expressions. Mopirah most of all, a wicked grin plastered on his face. Trying his luck, Jon scooted slowly towards him and sat on his lap, smiling innocently.

Oh yes; he had just been selected.

___________________________________________

They barely entered the room Mopirah grabbed Jon’s waist and gave him small kisses on his neck. It was disturbing and revolting, but he had to keep his cool.

He giggled a little bit and put his hand on the man’s chest. “You are so strong, master. Do you want to dance?”

“You already danced enough.”. He sounded impatient.

“Oh, but I like dancing. And singing to. I could do it aalll daayy loonngg”. He sing-song the last part and circled the man to massage his shoulder from behind.

“You are very beautiful,” He said grinning. “I can make you sing the whole night, just come over here.” Mopirah’s hand traveled towards his crotch, and massaged the area in a clear exhibition on what he wanted.

_Ughh…_ Jon readied the knife hidden in his waist _. Fucking disgusting._

“Promises, promises….”. He quipped back, slowly snaking his arm around the man’s neck. 

Positioned behind Mopirah, Jon took the opportunity and stabbed his throat with one of the cutlery he stole earlier, clasping his mouth tight so the guy couldn’t scream. Mopirah fought and scratched his arms – it was painful, the man was strong – but Jon clenched his jaw and resisted. The northerner twisted the knife to get to his artery and Mopirah died silently, making a bloody mess on the carpet.

Yet, murder him was only one part of the job. If Jon could not find the gold, all the work will have been in vain. He grabbed a box within the room and reserved for later. It would be a good recipient for the general’s head. Avoiding looking at the corpse, Jon cleaned himself in the basin and wondered how would he be able to decapitate someone. _Will I even have the stomach?_

In the room annexed to the bedroom he found a desk full of letters, documents and maps. He did not have time to read all of it, but going quickly through the maps he discovered the plant of the palace. The vault was just beneath the bedroom, accessible by a small set of stairs at the end of the corridor. The key was in the most obvious of the places: Mopirah’s neck. People often assumed their safes would be secure if they wore the keys on themselves.

Jon followed the route and came across guards; he should have expected such. There were no guards inside the palace - all of them were on the outside watching for invaders - except for these two in front of the vault.

“What are you doing here?” One grunted annoyed.

Jon gave them a little smile and wiggled his hips like a maiden on her wedding night.

“Oh, I am sorry. Just looking for a place to wash myself. The master was very demanding.”

One guard spat and the other replied. “Fuck off, bitch. Go back to the room.”

Slowly, Jon approached the man glaring him with contempt.

“There is a lavatory behind the door?” He asked dumbly, sliding the knife into his hand behind his back.

“This is not a door, is a vault, so go bac-“. Jon plunged the knife into the guard’s throat, grabbed the sword on the man’s hip and – moving the sword in a semi-circle ark to avoid the enemy’s lunge - immediately stuck into the other’s bowels. Before the guard could scream, Jon angled the sword and slashed his throat open.

He halted, out of breath, and watched the bodies for a minute. With these two, his kill count was at eight… Eight men, eight lives…. _No, no… don’t think about it_. Out of breath and proud to have put that through, Jon congratulated himself; he did what he must, and now he had a sword. It should serve to cut Mopirah’s head.

He entered into the vault, but had to stop a moment to appreciate the beauty of the vision in front of him. _Holy mother of all that is good and true…._

_I am so fucking poor._

If he could, he would grab everything in that vault. Jon knew the guy was rich, but this was ridiculous. Jewels, gold, pottery, silk, tons and tons of riches all scattered around free for the taking. He grabbed a few small chests full of gold and some small bags of precious stones. It was not even half of the full treasure, but it should be enough.

He returned to the bedroom and adjusted the general’s body over the bed to cut his neck. He saw his father do so twice when dealing with deserters and criminals.

_It’s not easy to cut a man’s head, Jon, it should never be easy_ \- His father had told him.

Jon lifted the blade and brought it down in full strength, closing his eyes in the last second. He felt the blade cutting thought the bone, only half-way in the neck. His sword was no Ice to make one clean cut, and the head hanged in a weird angle attached to the body. _What am I doing?_ Jon felt his bile in his throat, but lifted the sword again and this time the head went off rolling on the ground. Feeling the tears rising and his stomach turn, Jon slouched and threw up violently on the floor.

_Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it..._

His father would be ashamed of his weakness. As if Eddard Stark wasn’t embarrassed enough of his bastard son. Anger took over his anguish and Jon shoved the head in a box, then stuck the sword in the body and left it there. He was to be a warrior, with no place for cheap emotions. For the rest of this night, he had a plan to fulfill.

Palaces had big kitchens, and big kitchens needed lots of food. Jon got this idea upon noticing servants leaving the palace with carts to buy food in the markets in the first light in the morning. First, he fetched some clothing in the servants’ wing, taking care to hide his face well beneath the rags. For a moment, he thought it was all over: one of the servants woke up, and passed right by his side, heading to the latrine most likely, still sluggish from sleep. The gods must be on his side, for the servant didn’t even bother to glance at Jon.

He grabbed a cart from the courtyard – the oldest he could find - and loaded with the boxes, covering with old sacks to try to hide the more ornamented ones. In mere half an hour, all the treasures were in the cart. Dressed in rags and working amidst the shadows the way he was, none of the guards station near the kitchens worried much about what he was doing. _Even if one do_ , Jon pondered _, I can take him down before he alarm the others_. 

He pretend to work some more until the first light of the morning risen in the sky. When the servants began to enter the kitchen, he discretely went back to his cart and left the palace.

___________________________________________

Jon made a quick stop in the inn where he maintained his lodge, then moved on to the far side of the docks in which Harry Strickland’s ship was anchored. After a few hour he hours he saw Bracham coming out, and hurried to meet him and show off his spoils.

To say the man was impressed was an understatement. Bracham lost his speech and checked the head over and over to guarantee it was not a fake – or fruit of his imagination. He gazed Jon with some newfound respect; it didn’t matter how the lad had done it, just that he did. Unlike the knights of the songs, mercenaries cared more to the results than the means.

“Oh, fuck me! I—I just…. Just… I will be straight with you: I thought you would gonna get yourself killed.” He declared dumbfounded.

“All in a night’s work, my friend.” Jon puffed his head.

His new friend summoned Lazos, who in turn took him to the general-captain, and Jon could not be more disappointed with his reaction.

“Is this supposed to impress me?” He commented with a scowl. The head tossed on his table, and the gold stashed in the ground.

General-captain Harry Strickland - ‘The homeless’ - was a middle-aged short men with a potbelly and a bald spot on the head. Jon was tall – and still growing – but he had at least 20 cm over the general.

“Yes. Are you not impressed?” Jon asked confused. What he did was damn impressive on his opinion.

“Anyone coul-“ He interrupted Strickland before he could talk his shite.

“No, only I could”. He stated serious. “You been here for a month and accomplished nothin’. I did this in one week. Don’t piss on my back and call it rain, I know my worth.”

The general-captain did not appreciate his rhetoric.

“Careful, with the gold here I can throw you out if I feel like it.”

“You would be losing an important asset, me.”

The man scoffed. “Confident. _Too_ confident”. Strickland was suspicious, a crease between his brows. “What do you want?”

“A position in the Golden Company. A good one.” He answered truthfully.

_Yours would be ideal, but I will content with less for now._

“For what? Money?”

“If money was everything I would just kept the gold with me.” He gave them the gold and some stones. But did keep some diamonds. “No, I want a position to make a name for myself.”

“Money _is_ everything, but I will take the answer”. Said the once-paymaster. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Jon Snow.”

“Westerosi”. The general assessed immediately. “Bastard from the north, correct?”

“Yeah. Company material, correct?”

The man disregard the barb. “Westerosi is favorable for the Company, if you know our history you know why. How old are you?”.

Jon knew why. Aegor Rivers – the Bittersteel - founded the Golden Company upon his exile in Essos, after supporting the Blackfyre rebellions. It was originally consisted of descendants from all those who followed the bastard to Essos, and still maintained in his ranks a majority of them. Plus, they prefer to hire Westerosi, deeply in the delusion one day they will return to Westeros.

“Fourteen.” The captain frown somehow got even deeper. “And a half.”

“You have to be fuckin’ kidding me”. Strickland shook his head in disbelief, passing his hand through his face. He took a long glance towards the gold and the severed head before adding. “ ‘Tis true, we spent almost a month here and managed precious few regarding Gylesso Mopirah. There was no way to get to him. But you did it.”

Jon’s chest puffed with pride at last. “Of course, I always –“

“Quiet. You talk too much. Maybe you are an asset and will improve the company, maybe you are just an annoying little shit who thinks too highly of himself. We will see”. The general pulled out a small badge from his drawer, and handed to the northern. “Since this work was no easy task, you can start as a lieutenant of a _small_ regiment. Continue to impress me and you will have a great future”.

Lazos approached him from behind and smacked his back with strength, sending Jon forward.

“Ha! Congratulations, boy! Never - I swear to the gods - NEVER have I thought you would pay off like this.”

“Since Lazos and Bracham found you,” Strickland declared, eyes fixed on the gold. “you can keep them.”

The sellsword jumped startled, like a cat shoved into a bathtub. “What?!”

Jon grinned. _Hahahahaha. Life is good indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I rewrote this a couple of times. I’m by nature a cold person, so it was hard to describe the emotion. Felt the need to describe how it was for this brave, but inexperienced, fourteen year old boy to decapitate a body for the first time. Killing someone in the heat of battle to protect yourself or your family is not the same of what he did here. And that is not easy – in the beginning at least. But it will be. High-five for all my Far Cry 3 palls out there.
> 
> Imagem de: https://ironthroneroleplaygame.fandom.com/wiki/Noble_Families_of_Lys


	12. Gareth Ma'Harel - Bigger deals. / Franklin Flowers - Bastards can...

#### GARETH MA´HAREL – Bigger deals. Bigger enemies.

Lorath - 300 AL.

Lorath.

From the balcony of his villa, Gareth gazed with pride to the movement bellow him, his workers laboring under to sun to fill the merchants ships with his prized velvets and brocades, which would be transport to all Essos for a substantial profit. He has been a merchant of rich velvet for all his life: a business he inherit from his father, whom inherit from his grandfather, and which would one day belongs to his son. His company was the major responsible for the trade of velvets with their closest neighbors, Norvos, Bravos and Ib. Such was his success that he was the only trader in the city with his personal dock, and with important connections outside Lorath.

Despite their profit and reasonable success, Lorath itself was insignificant among the great economies in Essos. In fact, they suffered heavily under the shadow of Bravos, always indebted to the Iron Bank, and tied to its demands and whims. His father had tried for years to end to the monopoly of Bravos of Lorath’s market, all for nothing. But Gareth knew he found the answer: Westeros. He tried to explain it to his son Abe.

_“But will the westerosi king manage to send some ships by the next year?” His son leaned over the map of the trade routes that would exist in the future between Lorath and Westeros._

_“No, it’s too soon. Takes a great time to build a fleet, even more one so big.” He answered._

_“Westeros is huge, they must have enough people to build ships fast.” The lad had a good reason to be impressed: Westeros was indeed huge. The biggest country on earth without any doubt - it cut a nice figure on the map, dominating one third of it. He chuckled over his son eagerness; Abe was only 17, and already eager to take some responsibilities from his father’s shoulders._

_“Their country is divided in small ‘reigns’ you could say”. Abe listened while his father explained. “The initiative comes from this one,” He pointed to a small place on the map “The crownlands. The fleet is been built here only.”_

_With the fleet from Westeros – which Lorath helped finance somewhat – his city would finally be independent from the merchants ships of Bravos, and gain a new and vast market for their products. They would pay way less for its transport with the westerosi._

Deep in his reflections, he heard a racket outside the house, near the storage. He dismissed the commotion at first, but it was already near the gardens. Screams and male’s shouts reached his ears. There were strangers in his property. _Nina…_ His wife was the first one to cross his mind.

He ran to the gardens direction, and saw servants ran amok in fear, some already dead on the ground, sword wounds on their necks and chests. The strange men were searching the house, butchering everyone on their way. Despair took him, he had to find his wife, his son. She was in the gardens, last he heard of her. Abe had got out in the morning.

People were pushing each other desperate for their lives, he saw blood on the walls. The yelling was getting louder. Gareth heard the shouts of the bandits, alongside the shrieks. “Grab the bitch!”. “Bring her here!”. “Keep searching!”. “Outside, head outside!”. “Did you find him!?”. He noticed the murderers were well armed and wore the same outfit, with golden details. It was an army, not common robbers. One of them saw him and began to chase after, but Gareth ran nonetheless. He needed to find his wife.

Upon reaching the garden, he found her: Nina was lying on the floor, a bloody gash on her chest, blood spilled out of her mouth due to the puncture long, blood all over her delicate blue dress. He dropped by her side, tears already falling, and held her in his arms like he did so many times before. Just one last time. _Please Nina, no, no, please breath, talk to me._ But the enemy reached him soon after, caught him and held his throat in an arm lock, dragging him from her.

“So this is the man of the house! We were looking for you buddy.” A young lad appeared accompanied by two more officers. He was too young to be in charge of so many soldiers, nevertheless all the others stopped to listen to him.

“Who are you!? Why are you doing this!?” Gareth fought against the soldier’s hold, trying to reach his wife again. He didn’t want to cry in front of these monsters, but the tears were falling anyway. His Nina was just there, dead in the ground.

“I am Jon Snow, but I am feeling gracious today so you can call me Johnny. This is Jorah” He pointed to the man by his side. “And all these fine looking fellas right here are the cream of the Golden Company!” ‘Urras’ and cheerings reached his ears. “Will, Alan, Salah, Mircas, Trennen… Where is Trennen? Oh, there you are.” The evil boy pointed to some of the soldiers, and all them laughed like they just shared a joke.

Jon Snow knelt next to him and continued his probing. “Gareth Ma’Harel? You must have been busy to piss off the iron bank like this. They hired us to destroy your shipment in the docks. But we already took care of that, we can’t see it, but everything is on fire in this exact moment. They also wanted you dead. I am curious though; can you tell me why is your neck worth so much?”

_He dares! The fucking criminal enters here, destroys my home, murders my family, and dares to ask questions!._ Gareth spat in his face, wishing he could shove a knife in his eye.

The lad stoop up in a jump, fuming in anger and wiping the spit out his face. “You are lucky I am a man above torture, you know? Bring him!”

The worst thing Gareth could imagined occurred: from behind the leader, some soldiers brought Abe in front of him, and knelt him on the floor with a dagger to the neck.

“Dad…” His son whispered scared, his eye bruised and lip bloody. The boy’s horror was palpable when he saw his mother’s corpse.

“NO! PLEASE NO!” Gareth begged desperately, he twitched with all his might into the hold of the soldier. “I will tell you what you want, just leave him alone please. You already killed my wife for fuck’s sake!”

“Your wife?” The leader gazed Nina corpse next to Gareth. “I see.. Well, these causalities are inevitable I am afraid. Part of the job really, nothing personal. At least not with her…”. There was an unreadable insinuation in the pale eyes of the murderer scum; he stared directly into Gareth’s own eyes. “Now, what have you done to piss off the Iron Bank?”

Fearing for his son’s life, he explained his pact with the westerosi crown the best he could. The lad listened to everything mindfully and exchanged a few words with the other tall soldier at his side. Jorah, he remembered.

“So the king is trying to get some of the cut of Volantis and Bravos with this fleet, is that it? Interesting. Be a shame for your city when you die then, gonna lose some big player there.”

_Die?_ Gareth felt a mix of despair and rage building up to untamable levels.

“YOU MURDERER! You enter here, destroy everything and mock me, MY CITY!”.

The lad’s temper raised, his face getting red. _Not near as close to my rage, I assure you, you murderer rat._ “Get down the high pedestal you son of a bitch! We know what you did to pay for your part of the deal! DO NOT JUDGE ME, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!!.”. He roared.

Gareth’s face went pale. _They can’t know about this, nobody does, I was carefull…_

“We heard about the children disappearing around the poor villages near Norvos.”. Jorah explained. The man looked almost bored, in total contrast of his captain “And children being sold in Bravos a little after, all transported in ships belonging to you. We also know that Lorath do not admit slavery, it is forbidden.”

Jon scoffed, pacing in front of him. “No, it does not. I mean, do not get me wrong man, I don’t give a damn about slaves. They just are… part of things, I assume. But stealing poor children from their families and selling them off? That’s low, pal.”

“No captain”. A ginger young man muttered from his place. “They were sold for a really high price, not low, remember? We even asked twice because the guy told the price, and you said that was a robbery - “

“Mason…” The ginger was interrupted with a mixture of anger and impatience by the captain’s part. “Can you please, for all that is holy, shut the fuck up? Please? This not the time for your dumb bullshit.”

“Dad?” His son called him, still scared and unwilling to believe what he just heard. “Did you do all that? You didn’t…Right?” Abe wiggled a bit more against his captor’s hold. “Tell them!” He begged with tears in his eyes. “Tell them you didn’t do it!”

Gareth didn’t answer, nor look his son in the eyes due to his shame – the same eyes that belonged to Nina. He wasn’t worthy.

“Yes, daddy has been a naughty boy.” Jon sing sang uncaring, switching to a serious tone suddenly. “Get him out of here, he doesn’t need to see it.” Abe screamed and begged while been hauled out of the place, aware of what was going to happen with his father. Then, Jon unsheathed his sword. “You know what happens now. The Golden Company always keep their word, ‘Our word is good as gold’ and all that.”

“I can pay you more than them. Just tell me your price.” Gareth tried to bargain, but knew it was pointless.

“No you can’t. You would not be selling kids if you could afford your promises. Thanks by the way. Interesting to know how the mighty Iron Throne is making some of their money.”

* * *

#### FRANKLYN FLOWERS – Bastards can grow high.

Franklin, the bastard of Cinderhall. By Nawia.

Outside Ma’Harel’s palace, waiting beneath the shade of a tree, a big-bellied shambling hulk of a man stood quietly listening to the sounds of the carnage happening inside. His scarred face and bald head befitted the warrior he was, the left ear entirely ripped out and the right was disfigured. Golden rings worth of a lord’s ransom adorned his arms, one for each year he has served with the Golden Company.

_Why the fuck is he taking so long?_ He pondered moody.

The whelp was taking too long with whatever the fuck he wanted in there. Ma’Harel should not be difficult to take down once inside his little palace. The bigger treat was that Lorath’s guards who acted as soon they noticed action against one of their most effluent – if not most important – leader, but that was Harcourt’s part of the plan and that was good as done.

The captain of his regiment, Julien Harcourt, ordered him to stand down and keep watch for Jon Snow to finish his business. Harcourt might have accepted the brief alliance with Snow to take down a Lorath nobleman, but it didn’t mean he fully trusted the recently anointed young captain.

Which meant Franklin had to stand guard for hours to ensure Snow would not weasel his way out of the payment. After all, it was strictly an under-the-table deal, outside the Company’s rules, so there would be nothing stopping Jon Snow from pull a fast one on them.

Thankfully, he tried nothing of the sort, walking towards Franklin with a satisfied smile in his face. One might think he just come out of whorehouse instead of a sacked palace.

Maybe he did, Franklin joked to himself. The Lorath did had some pretty women wondering around, and the ones amidst a fight were easy game for any soldier.

The northern bastard approached smug, and Franklin felt that twinge of anxiety so familiar when he was his presence. Angular features, pale eyes and white skin. Ethereal he may be, but for Franklin his appearance was far from pleasant.

“Found yourself some free cunt to plow in there Snow White?” He sneered to the pale pretty boy who somehow was a new captain of the Golden Company. “You had to stick your sword into Ma’harel’s neck, not some wench. Should have known you were too cheap to buy a whore.”

He was expecting a chastising for speaking like that to someone of a higher rank, but the lad smiled instead. “HA! You are one to say Flowers. With that fucked up face, the harlots must charge a king’s ransom to open their legs for ya”. Snow japed and stuck his hand into a bloody bag. “Some of my soldiers are having their fun, yes, but me?” He lifted a man’s head from the bag and smiled wider. “I had mine already.”

Franklin hoofed at the sight of what was probably Ma’Harel’s head. When he joined the ranks of the Company he expected to kill many – it was an army after all -, but never be a part of plain assassinations. The Golden Company was a private army of exiled knights, who did not partake in vile executions; or so they claimed.

_Kill yes… Assassination no_. He scoffed. _Go figure._

“Where is Harcourt?” Jon asked.

“Waiting for you in the south. We cleared some of the guards, bribed the others and retreated.” Franklin answered half minded. “Nothing left to do.”

The lad nodded then smirked. “Did he have his little guilt-trip already? Mused over how he shamed his illustrious noble ancestors?” Jon asked playfully, putting over his hood as they walked to the south together. A couple of his soldiers following discreetly.

“Later, when the coin ran dry again along with his wife’s cunt.” He replied amused as well and Snow laughed.

His captain would be greatly relieved that this was all over. The sooner they got away from Lorath, the sooner that old bitch would bury his head in the sand and pretend he took no part at all in that whole affair.

Franklin knew the drill: Harcourt would put his tail between the legs when Strickland comes for him and allege it was all Snow’s fault, while using the coin to buy his prized wife, a quarter of his age, expensive jewelry to try and get to her bed.

He was not even mad; it was actually amusing to watch. He was certainly an ugly bugger, but he would be damned before any wench play him like that.

Snow proceeded to chit chat about Franklin’s years of service in the Company. One might think he was just being friendly, but Franklin knew the young man’s reputation. He wanted something.

“You certainly earned your time here.” He said mentioning Franklin’s golden bracelets. “But is it enough to binge you from a weed of the Tyrell’s golden garden?”

“Why Tyrell? The cunt who raped my mother was a Fossoway. I am no Tyrell’s weed, more of a brown apple in Cider Hall’s tree.” He replied watching the young man’s face morph into surprise, then recoil to thoughtfulness.

He heard Flowers and immediately assume Franklin was from the great house of the reach. Dumbass. _From what house is he anyway?_

“And I don’t give a fuck about what they think”. He resumed. “The first thing I asked when I joined was when the Company planned to return to Westeros so I could kill some Fossoways. Now I know the ‘return home’ talk is all crap. Never gonna happen.”

“Bet the money doesn’t hurt though…” Snow uttered smugly, to which Franklin merely scoffed. “But did you really used to believe that one would they would return?”

“Are you kidding? That is one of the reasons why the Company is so strong. These loyalists from Bittersteel would sooner plunge a lance in their ass than betray the code. They still think themselves as knights of Westeros. Many believe that.”

“I see… I actually heard about it here and there from the other captains, but hadn’t thought the soldiers actually cared about it.” Jon said contemplative. “I joined for the coin. And stay for the coin. Nothing else.”

_You are smarter than I was then_. Franklin thought, but would never said it aloud.

As they approached the site where the Golden Company made they retreat, both watched as Harcourt exit his tent and almost fainted with relief upon watching Jon approach. The older captain was clad in golden armor, further adorned with jewelry, heavy brocade gambeson over silk tunic and fine leather boots. An usual type of attire for a captain of the Company.

Honor and code was nice, but like Jon had said, the money didn’t hurt.

Jon turned to him one last time before heading to Harcourt’s tent. “If you ever want to level up your game Flowers, I could open a place for you in my ranks. We bastards understand each other don’t we? I could always use an experienced lieutenant.”

Franklin almost coughed to hold the laughter. The boy had a nerve. He would sooner froze his cock off before serving that whelp.

Even if it was very profitable…

“Grow some pubes and talk to me in five years, Snow. Then we’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Just to be clear: Gareth Ma’Harel is a thing exclusive out of my head, but he is based on noblemans from Lorath. He is (or was) one of the most prominent merchants of Lorath in the story, who sadly lived a bit far from the city (had he lived closer, he would be more protected). https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Lorath
> 
> *I think it’s obvious I check on awoiaf.westeros.org and iceandfire.fandom.com with a certain regularity.  
> https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Franklyn_Flowers
> 
> Image "Lorath" here: https://the-mockingbirds-song.fandom.com/wiki/Noble_Families_of_Lorath (don't know the author)  
> Image "Franklin" here: https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Franklyn_Flowers


	13. Willas Tyrell - Pick a side... / Arya - Not even a message.

#### WILLAS TYRELL – Pick a side. Marry.

Highgarden - 301 AL

Willas Tyrell, by Mikey Booch.

He watched as his grandmother rolled her eyes while his father was talking the same subject for the tenth time. Olenna Tyrell, former Redwine, was not one for lollygagging. Mace Tyrell, on the other hand, kept going over and over about the latest nobility’s gossip, including the royals shenanigans and the Lannisters connivery.

“….I would think not, but Payton Osgrey affirmed that Tywin Lannister received another visit from an entourage from Bravos. Or at least that is what Moreland told him. So maybe they are not as reclusive as people say. Even Hoster….”

His grandmother gestured her hand away, missing his father’s nose by a hair. “Yeah, yeah, Hoster and Tywin are practically joined by the hip these days, along with Bravos, and Jon Arryn and the Hightowers, the Marbrands, the Mallisters, Whents and so on…” Ollena replied bored and Willas concealed his laugh. “A bunch of old goats sipping tea in their little club.”

“Yes, mother, but lord Hoster invited Loras to spend some time in Riverrun in company of his grandson, and Tywin extended his invitation for Casterly Rock as well.” That immediately picked Willas interest, and the same with his conniving grandmother. His father kept pouring honey in his tea, probably unaware of the magnitude of such thing.

“So they want to let us in now?” His grandmother said pensive and glanced to Willas.”They tried before, but briefly.”

“Stopped when Margaery went to court.” Willas mentioned with a frown.

When his father gladly accepted the queen’s invitation for Margaery to go to court, he was hoping that his sister would snatch the crown prince, but Olenna was entirely against the idea. At that time, Willas did not understand why. Now he saw it clearly.

There were two very defined factions in Westeros: the crownlands and dorne, and the westerlands, vale and riverlands. When the Targaryens visited the north, it seemed they would enrapt the Starks into their net as well through marriage; a clever move considering the north was already aligned with the riverlands. However, the fools wasted that opportunity.

Instead, the prince and princess marriage to one another became iron clad at last, leaving the Starks free for the taking…. and Margaery… and the Reach.

“The king is too caught in his own mind to see what’s happening in the realm. As always.” She sniggered. “But we have to safeguard ourselves and fast…” She threw a meaningful look to Willas and he felt his throat tighten.

_No this again…_

“Grandmother, I….”

“It matters not what you want, it’s past time you marry.” She said ahead of him.

From the corner of his eye, he saw his two younger brothers enter the room and join them in the table. Garlan watched them particularly curious, and Loras smirked, both had heard what their grandmother said and rejoiced over the fact that Lady Olenna was finally nagging her favorite grandchild; behind Margaery. Garlan even lifted his cup to him. _Traitor._

Mace cut in. “I don’t think there is any way around princess Rhaenys engagement to the crown prince. But we can press forward an offer for princess Daenerys.” He said, missing the entire point of their earlier conversation.

“Gods, you are slow!” Olenna snarled again to her son. “We should stay away from the crown as it is, that ship almost sank once, and if it does know we should stay away. That blasted ugly chair only brings problems…. Besides, prickly as Tywin and Jon Arryn may be, who would chose the Martells over them?”

_Nobody would, especially a Tyrell_ , he thought. Willas considered prince Oberyn a great friend, and held no quarrels with the dornish, but the Reach in its long history was its primarily enemy.

Not that he would like to marry one of the princess anyway. Rhaenys’ beauty was something to behold, but he could do without the personality: arrogant and aloof, always waiting for people to come for her bringing praises. Daenerys was a sweet valyrian beauty, but naïve just like the king.

“Loras will accept the offer of Lord Hoster.” She continued. His younger brother looked alarm and was about to protest, but a sharp look from her cut him out of it. _The poor thing will miss life in court_ , Willas thought amused.

“And who exactly are you thinking to warm Willas’ bed, grandmother?” Garlan asked mischievous, and looked Willas over his cup. Apparently, he still held grudges against his older brother’s antics in his own marriage. _Shouldn’t never have commented on his wife’s body…_

“The Tully girl is too young yet and gods protects us from Cersei Lannister spawn, but Lord Stark has a daughter in the right age I think…” She said and looked at his father for confirmation.

“Yes mother, Sansa Stark. And the girl is also a Tully through lady Catelyn, she is quite a beauty, but not a princess…” He mumbled the last bit, but Olenna ignored.

Willas himself winced at the prospect of the Stark girl, while his brothers rejoiced. A northerner… Cold, unrefined and a tree-hugger… The prospect of her beauty did little to comfort him, since he had never seen a particularly beautiful northerner amidst the whores he visited.

_Doesn’t matter,_ he remembered himself caressing his faulty leg, _a cripple can’t and shouldn’t expect much. She is the oldest daughter of one of the Great and most ancient houses of Westeros, that is more than enough._

“She sounds like an appropriate choice father.” He said resolute. “Send word to lord Stark, I think grandmother is right, it’s past time I marry.”

* * *

#### ARYA – Not even a message.

Winterfell - 301 AL.

She always made sure to step firm while approaching, in order to make some noise. Even then, Robb and Alys continued to suck each other faces. After two years married those two still were like that everywhere, grossing everyone out.

“Uhum….” She cleared her throat, hopping they would stop. Nothing. “UHAUM!”

They finale noticed her. Grinning, Robb broke away from Alys and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. _Disgusting_. “Oh sorry Arya” Alys giggled, her face blushing. “Do you want something?”

“Father is asking you to meet him now.”

“Me too Ary?” His brother’s wife asked as well.

Arya did not like her at first. Alys was so delicate: long narrow face, short petit voluptuous body, round blue-grey eyes and soft brown curls reaching her small waist. She enjoyed everything Arya despised, the ‘proper’ ladylike entertainment: refined dresses, embroidery, painting, entertaining guests, among other things her mother prayed to all the Seven for Arya to get interested in.

Time, however, allowed her to see other aspects of Alys’ nature she choose to ignore in the beginning: her sympathy, her good humor, the practical behaviour that much suited a lady of Winterfell – unlike Sansa, who kept dreaming nonsense all day. When she least expected, Arya caught herself going to Alys for advice, and the lassie fondly calling her ‘Ary’.

“Yes, both of you.” Arya smiled to her friend. Alys grabbed her son Rickard in the crib and they went to the meeting room. Rick was born only nine months after their wedding – the eyes of his father, and hair of the mother -, and Robb stood a whole month walking around with his chest puffed like a pingeon for it.

“What’s the problem?.” Robb asked upon entering.

Her took a seat in front of father, while Arya sat next to Sansa and mother. Her direwolf Nymeria made herself comfy near Lady, who was under the table besides her mistress; soon enough both would be too big to fit in there. Alys sat close to Arya and her mother, who immediately took her grandson into her arms making cooing happy sounds. Theon was already there, by her father’s side, and looking smug, which was not a good sign.

“There is no problem.” Father frowned and rephrased. “Actually there is. The prince sent this for us, arrived this morning.” He handed Robb the scroll but continued to talk nonethless. “He remembered his promise to you son, and gathered information from across the Narrow Sea. Apparently Jon is a captain of the Golden Company now.”

Lady Catellyn snorted. “Just like him to do something so hideous. Join a band of paid cutthroats.”

Arya didn’t even dignify her mother’s comment, she was beaming due to the news. “Jon is alive! He is in Essos then! We have to go and bring him back!”

Sansa moved in her chair uncomfortable, she had told Arya many times she knew Jon was okay. ‘ _He is shrewd and witty_.’ Sansa told her multiples times. “A mercenary?” Her sister prompted bothered. “He killed people for money then?”

“No, don’t be stupid, mercenarys fight for money”. Arya stepped in to try to defend Jon. “They are paid to protect people.”

“By killing…” Sansa countered slowly.

Theon only scoffed amused in his place, turning a conspirator glance to Robb, but the latter remained impassive.

Father nodded pensive. “I think so Sansa, a fair number of people if the information is right. There are rumors of a new captain, very young one and very ambitious, who is causing some havoc and climbing fast in the ranks of the Company. The name Jon Snow appeared frequently. We can’t be sure, but it all points to your brother.”

Of course it was Jon. She knew her brother was amazing, but even she was impressed.

Robb, however, frowned deeply and huffed. “So he ran away, join some murderers and never thought about sending a message to tell he is okay?” Robb was more than angry, he sounded hurt. “He just went to live his life and forgot about us?”

Arya happiness vanished with the comment. Jon indeed left them here and forgot about his family. She cried a lot, for months, while he never bothered to send a message. She noticed how Alys leaned forward to squeeze her husband’s arm, perceiving the same anguish in him that Arya saw.

“You should learn not to rely so much in an unstable person like him. That half-brother of yours have no sense of loyalty and no – “

“Not now Cat, please”. Father cut mother short, then turned to Robb with a sigh. “ Son, it’s not so easy to get a message from Essos all the way to Winterfell. We just have this information due to the royal family’s connections, and even this is not completely reliable.” The explanation made sense, but none was convinced. “Since the prince did this favor to you, is only right you know.”

“Well he…. Must be busy.” Theon chimed in support of Robb, despite his obvious earlier giddiness about Jon straying the ‘good’ path. “Mercenary’s life is hard… Or so I heard.”

Robb frown didn’t vanquish, he tossed the paper away and rose up. “Aye. Jon is happy and busy there, fine. Good for him. Maybe if he ever remember he has a family here, I can tell him he is an uncle now.” He fetched his son from his mother’s lap and hauled Alys out of the room.

Theon turn a look to her father, who nodded back, and left the room soon after.

“Mother,” Sansa jumped in, sensing the opportunity to speak. “if the prince sent this message here, why didn’t he mention anything about the possibility of marrying me?”

“It’s not for him to decide darling. That’s the king’s decision.”

“Will the king will answer soon?”

“There nothing to answer.” Their father replied impatient. “Targaryens marry brother and sister, besides I didn’t make any propositions. The royal weeding will happen anytime soon.”

Their mother turned to Sansa and held her hand softly. “But there is something you must know darling. Mace Tyrell asked for your hand for his heir, Willas. And your father will accept it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Willas is awesome.It’s a shame he was cut out of the show.
> 
> Image here:https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Willas_Tyrell


	14. Leyton Hightower - Her pretty... / The Dark Terror - Our family.

#### LEYTON HIGHTOWER – Her pretty smile.

Oldtown - 301 AL.

He observed the pretty face of his young wife while she carefully read the news from his sister Alerie. Rhea, born Florent, was his fourth wife and much younger than him. Her big Florent ears showed through her hair and her nose was slightly crooked. Not a great beauty, his wife, but when she smiled like that he remembered why he accepted Alester Florent’s offer.

“So Willas is to be engaged to Sansa Stark!” She remarked and dropped the paper on the table. “Oh, can you imagine the party they will held? Willas is the heir. You have to ask Alerie when it will happen so I can prepare the clothing and jewels…” Rhea stopped in a halt and snapped again. “And Baelor! You have to tell him to fetch the carriages from the Rowans, because it not our fault that Rhonda destroyed ours!”

Leyton sighed tired. Rhea always seemed to find a way to antagonize the wife of his son, Rhonda Rowan. The wreckage of the carriages was hardly her fault, but Rhea insisted that Baelor should make his wife’s family pay for it.

“There is already new ones being made, Rhea, don’t bother Baelor with it.” He commented and continued before she could argue some more. “It will be interesting to see northerners in the south again. Last time it was in the war. And to marry my nephew of all things!”

“Yes… But I imagined Alerie would prefer her son to marry one of the princesses”. She sat closer to him and grabbed her sewing needle and the amended gown she had been working before. “Baelor certainly thought so, the way he speaks about the queen…” She babbled.

Oh yes… His son never get over his infatuation with Elia Martell. Had things gone slightly different, they would be married now, and Rhae would bicker with a dornish princess, rather than a lady of the reach.

“A northerner…” She sniggered focused in her work. “Good as it may be, they are faithless and close to the wildlings. It must have some effect on their manners. I heard they harbor wild wolves in Winterfell, can you imagine?”

Leyton snored amused. If Sansa Stark possessed half the beauty of her famous aunt, Willas would be fine. And knowing his excentric nephew, he would love to have some of those wolves in Highgarden for study and observation.

It was not their manners, faith, or even dowry that worried his sister anyway. It was the political implication. When her son marry the Stark girl, the Reach will be more distant to the crown than ever. That was what he understood from her message. Alerie’s husband Mace Tyrell would pursue one of the princess to the end if he could, but not the Queen of Thorns. This was her doing.

Gazing his wife again he felt the wish to try and talk to her about such things, but knew it would be like to try to explain colors to a blind man. Rhea was as learned about politics, magic and history as a door. To hear her babbling was an exercise of patience and sheer will.

Sometimes he wondered what got into his head to take her as his wife. He hoped to see her smile again. Then he would remember.

#### THE DARK TERROR – Our family.

Somewhere in the ruins of Old Valyria - 301 AL.

Ruins of Valyria.

They waited. For a long time they waited. He and his brothers stood in the remnants of the ancient dragon’s house, waiting for the Spirit of Fire. They saw the red star welcoming the Spirit into the word. But they were still alone.

His silver brother wanted to fly, to look for the Spirit in the world. The world was too big, and the great Spirit habit a small body. Human, with dragon blood. He could feel him approaching with the cycles of the world, but never near enough.

The brown brother wanted to look in the home of the weak dragons, on the other side of the world. They abandoned the weak dragons and came here, for their weakness was killing their race. The Spirit of Fire would bring them back. He was their family. He was also family of the weak dragons, but stronger, much stronger. No, he was not with the weak dragons. He was near.

His brothers were right. They waited too much. They had to join their family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I just wanted to write a POV from someone different to grasp his reactions about the whole LannisterXTargaryens feud. Leyton fit perfectly, and I mix the politics with the ravings of an old man with a wife who is too young and (pardon my French) dumb for him. But hey, she is pretty.
> 
> Image "Ruins" here:https://screenrant.com/game-thrones-city-valyria-facts-trivia/


	15. Jorah Mormont - Horse savages... / Jon -It's time.

#### JORAH MORMONT – Horse savages. Young captain.

South of the Dothraki Sea, 301 AL

The boy was crazy.

He should have guessed from the first moment he met Jon Snow, a year and a half ago, that the boy was something else: impossible, arrogant, ambitious and brilliant. In the short while he was here, he managed to go from fifty men to five hundred under his command, jumping from a lieutenant to a captain in a very short time. The lad had no shame when it came to grab power. He wanted it all.

Jorah was one of the first to be assigned to the boy’s squad. He wasn’t pleased then, having to be under some squirt who barely left his mother’s tits; none of the men where. However, they soon changed their mind when Jon started to accept one contract after the other, and win tons of gold. He had a smart way to deal with problems and Jorah’s pocket was full thanks to it.

His own northern blood gave him some kinship with Jon, and soon they developed a sort of friendship. Jon tried to hide, but he missed his family and the North, so did Jorah, who left his home years out of shame of what he had done. Now the boy was the closest thing he had of his homeland, and he did start to fear for Jon’s safety.

A difficult task, it was. The last insane plan the boy hatched almost had killed him. Jon decided it was a good idea to trap Khal Bharbo in the canyons, between the scarps of some hills in the grass sea. The masters of many cities put a high ransom on that particular horse warlord’s head, and for good reason. The great Khal was fearsome, owned the largest khalasar in the great grass sea, and never lost a fight before, until Jon.

They positioned archers on top of the canyons, on both sides. The infantry hidden in some entrances alongside the ravines. A group had to bait the khalasar warriors into that labyrinth. It worked. The dothraki warriors had a difficult time in such a tight space; they didn’t have vision or ways to maneuver the attacks coming from all sides. Archers made quick work on the marjority of them – armorless as they were -, the infantry took care of the rest. Dothraki were fierce warriors, but unable to deal with a good battle strategy and soldiers in heavy chainmail – those arakhs did little against plate.

The lad decided to stand in the middle of the turmoil to face the Khal head-on, like the arrogant fool of a whelp that he was. He got what he wanted; they faced each other amidst the battle in a single combat: the ferocious khal wielding his arakh better than anything Jorah ever seen, against the upstart prodigy. Jon was an excellent swordsman, he trained everyday with as many man as possible and lately started using two swords. Still, Jorah was surprised when the lad had the dothraki warlord surrendered on the floor, Jon’s blade against his neck. More surprised even by what happened next.

Jon helped Bharbo – no longer a khal, with most of his khalasar dead – get up, and both enemies stood proud, observed by all the warriors with expectation. Their captain remained impassive while the dothraki warrior pulled a small blade out his belt and, in a single motion, cut his long braid hung with dozens of tiny bells. The man tossed his braid at Jon’ feet and waited for his final judgment. He did not say anything, but the gesture spoke volumes: dothraki only cut their braids upon defeat to show the world his shame, each bell a victory. 

Instead of killing the man, Jon saluted him, collected the braid and ordered a retreat. When Jorah inquired why he had not taken the khal’s head, the captain just shrugged and replied simply.

“Dothraki respect strength. So do I.”

Ironically, Jon got out of that combat unscathed, only to suffer a major wound by the hands of an assassin, sent by a noble from Qohor in revenge against a contract he fulfilled. If not for a young sellsword called Fergus, he would be dead right now.

Their Captain’s barrack was located in the far end of the camp, a makeshift construction the Company relied on when they had to stay more than one month in the same location. Despite temporary, the barrack was big, with enough place for the Captain’s bedroom, a small storage and a meeting room. The Golden Company followed a strict code of appearances, and having such organization, instead of just improvise some tents, were necessary to maintain their value.

“Bracham. Is he sleeping?” Bracham, one of Jon’s most trusted men just left the lad’s room. A rogue and a petty thief whose skills earned him a place of renown within the Company, even before he met Jon. The man does not suit him, but earned his respect which was just as fine.

“Yes, but not well. He is agitated. I lighted the braziers the way he likes, it’s hot as a sailor armpit in there.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“Go ahead, lazy sod slept enough already.”

Bracham did not exaggerate - the room was too hot. _How can anyone like a place like this?_ Jon was muttering something about flames and ‘hot spot’, but it was impossible to understand fully.

“Snow. Snow, wake up” He shook the lads arm. Jon had his chest uncovered, so Jorah observed the nasty gash marring from the right shoulder to the left side of his abdomen. Despite being ugly, it was healing well, so by the gods’ mercy Jon would not have a fever. Although it was hard to be sure, his body temperature seemed to be naturally higher than the normal.

“Jorah..?” Jon woke up, mumbling drowsy from the sleep. “Hey buddy, mah buddy. I was having one wonderful dream…”.

He would not fall for that again. “Spare me any of your crazy sex delusions, captain.”

A glimmer caught his attention in the other side of the room. _What are those stones on the brazier?_

“No, really. I was in the middle of a huge pyre… Fire everywhere, it was so warn and nice. We were one. I was on my knees and a spurt of fire reached my face, the flames caressed my naked body eve-“

“Aye, aye, I get it. All very erotic. What exactly are those?” He pointed to the stones on the lighted brazier.

“Oh, I forgot I left them in there. Those are my eggs. Have them for years. Say hi to Beakman and Eggster.”

He saw eggs like these before in old books. It couldn’t be…

“Do you know from what are those eggs?” He asked while Jon got up and began to put on his clothes, not at all interested in the conversation.

“Some mutant chicken is my best bet. Maybe a duck. A mutant one. Auch…” He flinched when the rough fabric of the shirt touched his wound. Whispering to himself, Jon mumbled “I wish I wore silk like those fuckers now…”  
  


“I saw eggs like these before in an old book,”. Jorah wanted to remember the exact picture on the page he saw, but it was a long time ago when he was still a boy. One thing was certain: they were scaled, just like these ones. “about dragons.”

“Dragons. What about them?” All playfulness gone from the young man’s face.

“Are you sure these are not dragon eggs?” He speculated, to the lad’s displeasure. “Where did you find them?”

“In some cave, I…”. He took a deep breath, a sign of annoyance. “Look, it doesn’t matter. Did you want to tell me something?”

“Captain, if these are dragon eggs I am certain the Targaryens will pay a fort-“ The older man insisted.  
  


“Leave it. It’s my business and ‘tis are my eggs. I never considered them to be dragon’s, but… I’ll look into it.”

“All right”. Jorah decided it was better to give up; Jon’s temper was fickle at its best. “I just wanted to say the scouts returned today with the reward for khal Bharbo’s braid. They wanted the head, so we only received half. Perhaps you want to count the coin?”

“No, you do it. I trust ya. Should’ve known those cunts would only pay half…”. He checked inside his shirt – in the location of his wound - and remembered his attack. “I assume the boys weren’t able to get anythin’ else of the assassin?”

“So far nothin’. He is resilient; Jaiden tortured him all night but achieved precious few. We only know he is from Qohor and was hired by a noble from the city.”

“Qohor…” Jon hummed pensive for a bit. “How did he get inside the camp anyway? Inside _my_ pavilion?”

A slightly pause before revealing the inevitable. “Mason.” Jorah said only.

The lad blinked then huffed. There was no need to say anything more. Haytham Mason was Jon’s squire, the son of Godwin Mason, a captain of the Company who Jon deeply appreciated. A hardworking sort, Haytham was, but to call him dumber than a bag of hammers would be a compliment.

“The assassins is well trained, what a waste…” Jon acknowledged while handling Jorah a cup of honeymead. They sat on small benches near the brazier. “Get rid of him. I think I know who the one behind this is anyway. Syrodos.”

Jorah wasn’t so certain. Vararo Syrodos was only one in a dozen who wanted Jon dead in Qohor. Whilst their passage to the City of Sorcerers, Jon left a ruckus in his trail, killing nobles and stealing property as long he was well paid.

The only difference with Syrodos was that the man’s youngest daughter took a fancy to Jon, and escaped her father’s guards in order to reach him. She never succeeded, but was brutally raped while walking in the dark part of the city, searching for her beloved amidst low-life mercenaries.

Maybe the trauma was too much to handle and left her confused, maybe she capitalized on her disgrace to force her father’s hand, or maybe he pushed her to blame Jon; whatever the reason, the blame fell on the lad.

“We can’t be sure it is really him.” Jorah reasoned.

“True, but…” The excitement in the reply vanish as he found no arguments. “Okay, fine, we can’t be sure it’s him. But he is the first of my list.” Jon mumbled under his breath, whilst Jorah smirked. It was nice to have an edge on his captain.

They settled in an amicable silence for a while, whilst enjoying the silence and pleasant climate of the day outside the tent. The captain was lost in his own thoughts – brooding – as he usually did, and it took a while for the young man to gather courage to ask Jorah about what was in his mind. “Jorah… What do you know of the smoking sea? Of Old Valyria?”

He didn’t knew much; Jorah was a warrior, not a scholar. He gathered something through his years traveling, although it was doubtedly interesting.

“Just the legends about it.” He commented dismissively, but the lad looked at him expectantly, so he felt compelled to say more. “It’s an ill-omened place, where deformed monstrous men dwell in. The waters bubble with a foul vapor that can kill outright, so sailors avoid it at all costs. The valyrians caused so much terror and pain in the world that the god’s wrath curses their land even today. Tis’ all I know”

The lad hummed pensive. “I’ve been having some dreams. I think something calls me there. Like a pull.”

_Oh, no. Not this again._

Jorah suspected whatever he choose to say, it would be the wrong answer. The lad had his ‘dreams’ and they often put him in dangerous paths. Jorah did not like that kind of talk - he was a man of the world- and just like a father would, he wanted to keep Jon out of such nonsense.

“Snow… Look…” He chose the words carefully. “We all have dreams sometimes; dreams that seems to tell us something, but they are just our imagination. There is nothing there for you. There is nothing there for anyone, but death”.

A shadow passed over the lad’s eyes, and he took his time to acknowledge Jorah with a reply. “Yeah. Yeah, you are right”.

___________________________________________

“Sir! Sir! Come quick!”

Jorah was checking some of the weaponry when one of the soldiers run into the pavilion quailing.

“What?” He snapped impatient.

“The dothraki!” The man let it out breathless. “We are being attacked.” He whisper that bit out of anxiety, but to the old sellsword it sounded like a loud scream.

Jorah ran out the tent, and took the sight before him; there was fire ahead, screams at a close distance and soldiers were retrieving their arms and heading to the same direction from all sides. Just as he exit the tent, a group enter to claim the equipment inside for the fight.

The young man from earlier join his side, this time with sword in hands. A few more men join in their group and so they ran towards the epicenter of the battle, following the lead of the others ahead.

“They were too fast, invaded one side of the camp and now are setting fire on everything!” A fellow soldier informed them.

“How many?” Jorah asked, trying to assess the situation.

“I don’t know. One hundred perhaps? Maybe more.”

It was chaos. The dothraki were everywhere. He was surrounded by them, whilst the golden company tried to fought them off, heavily in disadvantage since they were caught off guard.

Jorah soon starting engaging against some of them; aided by the group, he fought them off while worried about moving forward. He continued until he reached the center of the camp, where the battle was more intense. Some sellswords formed a line of defense with lances in order to knock the warriors of their horses, while archers organized themselves behind them. The Dothraki weren’t so interested in killing the sellswords however. Their focus was to burn the tents and… Look for something? Or someone…

He scurried towards some soldiers and shouted. “Where is Jon Snow?!”

“The captain was here just now! But he ran towards the main barrack! Said he needed to fetch something!”

It was no coincidence the dothraki head to the same place.

_They are after Jon._

A shout from behind penetrate into his musings. “COMMOM! FOLLOW THEM! RUN!”. One of the veterans rallied the others to keep on pushing the dothraki, who were losing their stand and retreating to the outskirts of the encampment.

The Golden Company chased the horse warriors through the camp. As their number diminished, their enemies retreated to strategic spots.

They had to stop them soon, or else they might run away. Bracham rallied a group to chase the fleeing dothraki all the way back to their hideouts, whilst the braver ones were slashed or captured inside the camp, rather than surrender.

Many more fighting ahead and the Golden Company was winning. There were around five sellsword for one dothraki, hence they were faded to lose from the start. But that was not their purpose anyway, they wanted Jon.

It could be Khal Bharbo’s warriors seeking revenge…

“Sir, he is in there!”

Mason warned Jorah pointing to the captain’s pavilion. It was completely on fire and unreachable since the savages barred the door. _No.._

He remembered the words from before. _‘I was in the middle of a huge pyre’_

The fear and despair curled into Jorah’s guts like an eel. “GO! FETCH WATER! WE HAVE TO PUT OUT THE FIRE!” Why nobody was doing nothing?. “MOVE!”

“Sir… It’s too late. There is nothing we can do now.”. One of the soldiers notified him with a lost expression.

“FUCKKK!!” Lazos cried from behind in complete anguish.

Then the old sellsword went to the surrounded dothraki knelled on the floor - hands and feet tiep up - and began to slash all of them one by one with all his rage; the pain of grief and bloodlust made him numb to the barbaric of the act, or the blood splashing in his face and clothes. Truth be told, it did the same to Jorah and all the others, who just watched anesthetic.

All they could do know was wait to the flames to cool down.

#### JON – It’s time.

He heard the invaders incoming, but he was in no condition to fight. The shoulder burned with any movement, and his arms were useless. Even so, he fetched a sword and ran out, counting on his men for protection.

_What the fuck is going on?_

The dothraki were blasting the defense walls, he could hear their screams from the borderline of the camp; see the fire starting to build up, burning the tents. His soldiers circled him, ready for the fight. They knew of his situation.

**“Fire...”**

Those foreign sensations… Last time he felt such it was years ago. He never thought he would sense them again and neither did he want to. But their call was just as irresistible now as it was years ago.

“I have to go back to my pavilion!” He warned the fighters, who were probably satisfied with their captain going back to safety, useless as he was now. “Hold your ground!”

“But captain,” Mason prompted confused, probably about to ask something stupid. “How can we hold our weapons and the ground at the sam-“

“NO! Not now Mason! Just shut the fuck up”. Jon was about to go away, but he had an idea the last minute. “Actually Mason, drop your weapons and hold the ground, will ya? You be there, no weapons, holdin’ the ground until is over.”

_Just die for gods’ sake._

“Aye, aye, cap’n!” The moronic ginger saluted him. 

“Aye, aye?” He turned again confounded. “You are not a northen’, Mason! What the hell is wrong with you?”

No waiting for the likely stupid answer, his feet led him back to the eggs as fast as he could, the dothraki had already reached the main camp and Jon noticed their presence near him, but the eggs mesmerized him.

That hot and bright feeling hit him hard again, one he could only translate as ** _“Fire.”_**

_Do they want fire?_ Jon put them in the fire all the fucking time, this was the worst time possible to demand a time in the brazier!

He heard the door opening and, before he had time to react, a dothraki warrior was on him, the arakh just missing his head for a hair. Jon dodge to the side just in time, and the man’s arakh got stuck in the wood. The wound in Jon’s chest was stinging like hell. While the dothraki tried to yank his weapon back, Jon fiercely stabbed a dagger through the man’ tight. As he screamed in pain, Jon ran to the door but was unable to open it: his enemies barred it from the outside.

For his depraved amusement, they were also torching his pavilion; he watched fascinated the flames spreading throughout the room, which the amount of fire and fabric helped.

He could scream, he could yell for help… But what for? He would not burn anyway. _I am not certain how or why, but I won’t_. The wounded dothraki on the floor, on the other hand, let out a horrible shriek as the flames licked his skin. Death by fire was more horrible than anything he had imagined before, there was no way to process the sight of the warrior’s skin melting off his face whilst it burned like a crisp.

In Jon’s skin, however, the touch of the flames felt like a warm caress.

_They want to kill me like that? These monsters…_

_Glad it isn’t me._

The eggs mattered more however so he went by their side. _There… have your fire_. He stood near them, basking in the feeling of happiness radiating from the eggs. They mattered so much to him, and he had no idea why.

Then, the shell cracked. 


	16. Jorah Mormont - Unbelievable / Jon - I want an army...

#### JORAH MORMONT – Unbelievable.

The flames did cool down after a long time, it was already night. He stayed there with the others - the ones not wounded in the fight - waiting to collect whatever remained of their captain’s body. Jon was a good leader to all of them; an irreplaceable cash cow to most. A young promising captain who was earning unthinkable amounts of money, in a way no other captain could; even if it was through not so righteous ways.

For Jorah - a man at his age with no children - it was hard not to think of the lad as something close to a son, and grieve his death as such. Lazos was reacting even worse, it seemed he regarded Jon the same way.

Ready to fetch the charred remains, Jorah stride into the destroyed barrack. But once he entered, amidst the cinders and smoke, he found something else.

_No, it can’t be… I saw the fire, it lasted the whole night._

“Jon?” There was the lad, kneeling in what was once his room. He was so quiet, shrunken, naked and unharmed.

Jorah blinked twice. No, it was not a ghost, nor his imagination.

Jon lifted his head to him. “Hey, Jorah. Missed me?” He beamed brightly, his pale skin covered in sooth, but without a scratch. “I always wanted to do that, sleep in a pyre…”

Something climbed Jon shoulder, another moved from his cradling arms. Gods… Dragons, two dragons. Jorah stepped back. Lazos did the same, his mouth wide open but without uttering a sound; he was as shocked as the northerner.

“Don’t be afraid.” Jon got up and went straight to the expecting crowd. The place was a complete silence, except for the little dragons’ snarls. All were looking astonished at the unbelievable sight.

Dragons were back into the world. They were right there in front of them….

Then, as never happened to a captain before, they kneeled whilst a red comet made it’s way thought the skies.

* * *

#### JON – New plans. I want an army of slaves.

“How did this happened, how?” Lazos asked again, pacing trough the tent.

He had been questioned outside by every one of his men that managed to corner him. Jon tried his best to calm and satisfy them, but he was tired _. Didn’t they realize he had just given birth? Not literally, but…._

“I already told you. I entered the room and got the eggs. Instead of coming for me, they barred the doors and set fire on the outside. I didn’t mind… The fire felt so good at the time…”

“You didn’t mind?!” His friend barked back, his voice and octave higher, shaking his arms. “Why? Fire just don’t burn you, is that it? Or have ye gon’ batty?!” Lazos turned to Jorah in search of support. “Are ye hearin’ this or have _I_ gone mad?”

“Calm down, man.” Jon sighed, understanding he had to do better explain himself to the man that he saw as a friend, and as a tutor. “Look… Of course it harms me. But, at that time, I just _knew_ without a shadow of a doubt that I would not burn. I am aware how much weird this is. I don’t know what else to tell ye…”

Moreover, he did his best to hide it from everyone, especially his family. Nobody liked to be a freak, himself very much included. Never mind that now, because around five hundred men saw him go out unharmed from the flames butt naked.

_Hahahaaha…. Fuck my life._

“Why did you run for the eggs?” Typical Jorah, asking the hard questions. Whatever, he didn’t give a fuck anymore. He got dragons and came out of a pyre, sensing eggs’ feelings was nothing.

“They… called me. Last time I felt their call was when I found ‘em”.

To Jorah’s credit, he took Jon’s answer calmly and reasonable. “Do they talk to you? How?”

“No… I talk to them in my mind, and I think they understand me well enough. But they don’t _talk_ to me per see, instead…. Oh, how can I explain…?”. He mused a bit for an explanation that made actual sense. “They send me sensations, feelings and… imprints of themselves, the things they want or about the world in general. And I try to translate it into words to get a meaning. That’s how I _hear_ them.”

Jorah nodded, apparently content with the answer or at least satisfied to understanding nothing, and went back to his musings.

The little blue dragon was sleeping on his thigh, while the other busied himself sprawling little bites on Jon’s cheek. They felt warm and delicate to the touch; little hatchlings with none of the fearsome might they would one day possess.

“ ’Tis crazy.” Lazos declared dumbfounded, looking at the dragons like they were eat him at any moment. “Can you _hear_ them now?”

“Uhum, they’re happy to be here.” He could indeed. The two little dragons were ominous presences in his head: he could sense them, and they could hear him.

**_“Food. Hunger.”_** The little blue dragon nibbled his check, trying to get the grips of the world around him.

****

**_“No, that is my cheek. Be quiet, I will get you food soon.”_ **

“You must be the first dragonlord in over a century.” Jorah spoke amazed with their interaction. “A northerner from Westeros. It’s… hard to make sense of all this.”  
  


“Aye”. He agreed simply; there was nothing else to add. They settled for a comfortable silence, until Jon felt relaxed enough to share his ideas. “You know… in the pyre, it was like we shared the same being. The same soul. Folk think the valyrians had the blood of the dragon, but is more than that: it’s the spirit too.”

“I knew you were valyrian _ish_!” Lazos shouted and slapped his thigh boatful. “I told you: you are too pretty to not be one of those pricks.”

Jorah, on the other hand, frowned confused. “I thought you were the bastard of Eddard Stark. The one he brought home from the war.”

“I am. Must be from me mom, I am not sure. My father always refused to talk about her.”

His father avoided the subject, and he learned to ignore it.

“Lord Stark just found some woman of the ancient blood looming between his battles and marches through mud, and had a bastard son with her…”. Jorah summarized and shook his head incredulous. “No… Unlikely.”

“The purest lineages of valyrians resides inside the black wall of Volantis”. Lazos remarked, observing the dragons fascinated. “And there are these Targaryens royals you told me about, Mormont.”

Jon tilted his head to the side and grinned smugly “Hmmm, Black Walls of Volantis.” He pronounced the words with a flair. “Fancy.”

“BAHH.” Lazos waved his hand dismissively and continued. “But why some uptight asshole from these noble families have to be his mother? It could be anyone with the right lineage. Lys has lots of them, and not all are eatin’ in porcelain dishes.”

The man had a point. Why some noble from impeccable lineage?. It could be anyone, Jon himself was a bastard. Most likely his mother were some poor prostitute whom his father dotted upon when he was younger.

The little dragons surely did not care if he had a name, or if he was noble. Blood, talent, dragons… none of the important things cared about titles or silver spoons.

In the moment, the hatchlings only cared about food. One of them kept nibbling his cheek and purring.

“Get me some meat, anyone? Cooked. My dragon is hungry.”

“Do you have names for them?” Jorah remembered curious.

Not really. Beakmen and Eggster wouldn’t do, and he was shitty in naming things. No creativity at all. He made his little brothers offer suggestions for naming eggs so he could name his own, that’s is how Beakmen and Eggster came to be.

“Any ideas?” He inquired to the two.

“This one is golden like honey. A good quality honey. In Norvos we call it Urthemiel.” Lazos offered gladly.

“Wow, cool name”. _Never would have thought of this_. “Urthemiel it is. This one is blue, like the sea or the sky.” He lifted the other dragon to show his colors in the light.

“Like the sky at night”. The older man agreed. “Skyfall”*

“Lazos, hereby you are officially my baby dragons’ godfather.”

*Remember they are speaking in Valyrian, the bastard version of the free cities. It bugs me how Jorah could speak dothraki, but no valyrian when he spent so many years working in the free cities. Now, Skyfall would be something like Jedarudan. Urthemiel, well… If you know where this name comes from, you my friend have fine tastes.

___________________________________________

“Finally Bracham, where were you? You missed the best part of our campaign so far: my glorious naked arse out for everyone to see!.” He yelled exultant.

Jon went to meet the hunting party as soon they set foot I the camp. Bracham had had the foresight to chase the retreating dothrakis all the way back to their hiding last night as soon they called for retreat, an initiative for which Jon was incredibly grateful.

“And how in bloody hell did you take off your breeches in the middle of the ruckus, Snow White? Fought with your prick?” Bracham hushed to him cheery and laid a heavy slap on his back. “That’s a story I will gladly hear hammered.”

“It’s a gripping story, be sure. Those are all of them?” Jon looked at some dothraki in bounds before him. Most were in the older side, unfit for battle or wounded, nothing special. Except for an uncanny lysene man.

He knew that man.

“Merguel?” Merguel Fladys was one of Harry Strickland’s closest advisors. “Why is he here?” He asked Bracham.

“The fucker was among the horse savages. He gave them gold and was waiting in the hideout.” He took Fladys’s gag out. “Tell him.” Another soldier came from behind and kicked the man in the head. “Tell him what you were doing there, sweet cheeks.”

“Strickland’s orders”. He spat reluctantly, his blood flowing down his chin. “He sent me to make a deal with a khalasar and get rid of you” The lysene glared coldly at Jon, but continued with a sweet smug tone. “We would say it was some of Bharbo khalasar remnants seeking revenge later, to avoid confrontation with the other captains.”

Jon never appreciated a snitch so much before. Gladys was the sort that would soon the whole boat sink than drown alone.

As for the confession, he could barely believe… “Why?! I am doing everything right. I earned the Company money, respect!”

_Why would they want me dead? They dare! They own me!_

“We have a hierarchy and you are breaking it! Blame yourself, Snow. Clients don’t want to talk to Strickland any more, they rather deal with you for you will nib on anything like a rat. You made the contract on Bharbo’s head without consulting us. Killed that banker under the pretext of retreating data. A glorified assassin, not a soldier.” He spat that bit venomously.

“I was going to give the Company its due! I saw an opportunity and took it!”

That was a fat lie. Jon didn’t care about Harry Strickland approval. The man took to call him ‘son’ at times in conversations and he hated it. He wasn’t in the market for a father. He wanted Harry’s place. Hence, he took to making deals behind the general’s back. Harry was a paymaster - not a general or a fighter - he was great at deals, but horrible at getting shit done. Jon, however, excel at it. That’s why he gathered so many followers in the first place.

Harry noticed it faster than he assumed then.

“You think we are idiots? We are aware of your misdoings.” Merguel stated from his knelt place, but with his head high. The lysene was no coward, he would give him that.

What an odd specimen: fast to snitch, but brave. Those two were seldom found together.

“Good for you”. Jon answered coldly. He turned to the men next to him and gesture to the tied prisioners. “Kill them. And pack what’s left, we are going.”

“Where?” Bracham asked at his side.

“Astapor. Harry wants to get rid of me. I cannot allow it, but I will not hide from him like a bitch. We don’t have the numbers, so I have to buy myself an army.”

“Ahhh, not the unsullied again...” He whined.

_I did fanboy about the unsullied once or twice - maybe five times, hard to keep count - no wander he guessed it._ Jon found out about the unsullied prowess when researching the battle style of the dothraki. They were the most effective army against the horse warriors.

_They were the most effective army against anything in the world. Or are they?_ Jon was not so sure. Apparently, the unsullied only used simple cured leather breastplates and lances, not chainmail, steel swords, bows or horses. How good could they actually be?

_Guess I will have to find out for myself._

“Fancy myself having some unsullied for some time. They are the best trained soldiers the world has to offer, and we need some.”

“If by ‘some time’ you mean two months...” Bracham poked dome fun at the young man, then added. “An army of eunuch slaves. Is it really what you want?”

“Its exactly what I want.”


	17. Rhaegar - The old lyon... / Rhaenys - I always knew this day...

#### RHAEGAR – The old lion is prowling.

King’s Landing, the Red Keep – 301 AL* *at the same time that Jon is doing his thing…

Rhaegar was sitting with his small council when Varys came out with the recent news. He should be surprised, but Elia warned him nothing would happen smoothly. Like she said: there would always be people working against progress.

“What is their intent anyway?” He asked, slamming his hand in the table.

Rhaegar was angrier than he had been in years. Many sellswords companies seemed determined to disrupt his plans. The first causality had been his major partner in Lorath, Gareth Ma’Harel. Then his contacts in Myr were under attack and now Tyrosh. 

“Bravos and Volantis know of our plans. The Golden Company learned about it somehow and sold the information away. They won’t stop until everything is ruined.” Jon Connington informed him.

“If they are just sellswords they can be bought.” Rhaenys suggested flatly.

His daughter didn’t shy away from giving suggestions, her pride wouldn’t allow. But she had still much to learn.

Paxter Redwyne, his master of ships, schooled his daughter in his stead. “We don’t have that kind of money, my princess. No with everything invested in the ships. The mercenary companies are often well-trained and very expensive, and even worse: they have a twisted sense of loyalty and not necessarily abandon a contract for better payment.”.

“So just pay some of them, the ones who are still not involved in this mess.” Aegon proposed eager to make himself useful. “Pay some to protect our partners. It’s something we can do. Right?” His son looked at him seeking validation.

Rhaegar was sure he would be one of the greatest kings Westeros ever had one day, _if_ he stopped requiring so much of his approval. Or, in least, not ask for it in front of everyone.

“It’s a good idea, my prince.” Tyrion Lannister, chosen master of coin as a way to please lord Tywin, came for his son’s aid. “What we cannot do, in any scenario, is stand still. It would be a sign of weakness and our partners will lose their thrust in the crown.”

It is a good idea, Rhaegar acknowledged, to seek mercenary companies to do their bidding, but it didn’t cover what was bothering him. _Did someone betray me?_

“How the Golden Company learned of this?”. He voiced his most disturbing doubt. “Who gave them our plans so they could sell it to Volantis?”

Aegon shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His son wore his emotions on his face, and Rhaegar could always tell when he was hiding something.

“Aegon, what is it? You know something.”

He sighed, vexed by his father’s perception. “How can you tell?”. He glanced at Varys, who nodded in approval, and made his mind. “We received some reports… Lord Stark’s bastard was in some of them and he might be one of their captains; nothing is certain though. The problem is… he was spotted near Lorath around the time our ally was executed”.

_The Snow lad? Why Egg is keeping tabs on the bastard?_

As If reading his mind, his son anticipated the answer. ”I was just trying to help Robb Stark; told him I would aid in finding his brother.”

“The Starks are involved then?” Jon scowled choleric. “We should have known… Once a traitor, always a traitor!”

His hand was one of his best friends, and Rhaegar would be lost without his never wavering support, but Jon was too fast and easy to anger – it compromised his good-sense. The bastard was just a green boy, just a little younger than Aegon. _What could he possibly have done?_

“I don’t think so, Jon”. He stated calmly. “I have a deal with Eddard Stark about the wood shipments, he have no reason to try to prejudice us when he is also involved.”

“And the boy left the North by his own volition, if I remember correctly.” The spider whispered in his peculiar candied voice.

Varys remembered everything perfectly, and had a way to gather information unlike anyone. Rhaegar wondered how they could replace the master of whisperers if needed. He was not a person whose skills were common.

“Not the first time I hear of this boy”. Tyrion commented blasé. “Heard some stories of a young captain running around, assassinating behind curtains and climbing the ranks of the company; some believable even. But I thought it was just tavern talk. He must had been a handful.” He proclaimed with a chuckle.

“But it’s just gossip. Prince Aegon said himself that nothing is confirmed; the Golden Company have had access to the information through one of our careless partners, I am sure.” Gyles Rosby, the master of laws, managed to say with much difficult among his constant coughing.

Rhaegar fully agreed with the man.   
  


“I refuse to let myself be intimidated by these mercenaries.” The king proclaimed turning to Jon. “We will hire some sellswords to protect the merchant guilds under our wing, but not the Golden Company, I don’t want association with these cutthroats loyalists. Send our own troops if we have to.”

“The Starks are not to suffer anything, father. I was just helping Robert, he is oblivious to anything.” His son intervened worried. He must have really taken a like to the heir of Winterfell. 

“Like you say yourself, and lord Rosby just agreed, it’s just rumors. Better not waste our time with it. Lord Stark deserve our compassion for losing a son, only to discover he has become a criminal years later.”

___________________________________________

Hours later,

“I told you, Rhaegar, I told you. You should had been more careful from the start.” Elia admonished him while they strolled the gardens overseeing the preparation to their children’s wedding.

_Always right…. Always…_ He glanced his wife sideways equal parts annoyed and worried. People could be hearing her giving him an earful; between Elia and his mother he had too much of that. Even worse, that striking yellow dornish gown didn’t help at all with discretion.

“Yes, yes… You are right, as always”. He shushed her reprimand away. “There is no need to worry, we will deal with these mercenaries and the plan will continue.”

“Do you really think Volantis will let you take their monopoly of the Essossi trade easy as that?” Elia challenged him exasperated. “They will strike back-“

“They are already doing so, and poorly I must add.” He cut in her speech, eager to put an end in the subject. “There is nothing they can do against us, besides these pathetic attempts. I am already dealing with it.”

She scoffed, not convinced. “I hope you are right…”

Ahead of them Rhaegar spotted Tywin Lannister approaching. The old lyon spent the last decade licking his wounds in Casterly Rock, but had come in the beginning of the week to partake in Rhaenys and Aegon’s wedding. Not that he had a choice; lords from the entire realm were in King’s Landing for the ceremony.

The problem was: since his arrival, Rhaegar felt watched by the lordf, but still haven’t learn what he wanted from him. Initially, he presumed Tywin renewed his determination to have Jaime released from his vows so he could have his heir back. But until now, nothing.

_It won’t happen anyway. Jaime stays here, and so does Tyrion. This lion shall remain shackled to my will._

“My king, my queen.” Tywin gave them a small curtsy.

“My Lord Lannister. Has your staying been satisfactory?” Rhaegar inquired politely.

“It’s adequate.” Tywin said quickly, dismissing the small talk. “I am aware that prince Viserys marriage with the dornish princess remain barren.”

Rhaegar took a brief moment to get the full meaning. Such bluntness and belligerence were not so common in King’s Landing, but he should had expected such from Tywin Lannister – never one to mince words. Few struck such an imposing figure either: very tall, broad-shoulders, greying golden hair who was rescinding on his forehead and sharp green eyes that seemed to cast judgment at everyone.

“It’s true” Elia tried to be careful with her answer. “Arianne didn’t bear any children yet. But there is still time for that; they are young.”

“As you say, your grace. However, twenty-five may not be considered so young. Dissolving the marriage seems the most proper solution for both of them. My granddaughter Myrcella – you may remember - is already three and ten and a very adequate option.”

Rhaegar stiffened at such insolence. “That is not going to happen, my Lord.” First, he pushed Cersei to Rhaegar; now, Myrcella to Viserys. “Their marriage is valid and will remain as such. I am sure Lord Edmure can find an adequate suitor for his daughter.” He said referring to Myrcella Tully, Tywin’s granddaughter.

“He can, and with ease. Still, as a loyal subject of the realm, I fell inclined to offer a worthy match to house Targaryen.”

Rhaegar felt Elia’s displeasure and anger through her firm clutch on his arm. “Are you implying princess Arianne is not a worthy match, Lord Tywin?” He asked.

His wife must have felt particularly insulted, since this was from the same man who refused her as a bride for his son, Jaime, decades ago. Rhaegar wasn’t sure to this day of his reasons to doing so.

_Did he notice Elia’s frail health when my mother didn’t?_

_Does he despise the dornish like the Reach and the Stormlands?_

Whatever the reason, the old lion was smart enough to have let out that insinuation on purpose.

“Not at all, my king”. Tywin proclaimed without hesitation, and yet Rhaegar doubted is sincerity. “Princess Arianne is a prize for any house. Still, my first concern remain: the lack of heirs for both of them.”

“I appreciate your concern, Lord Tywin, but it is unnecessary. If my brother’s barren marriage becomes an issue, I will resolve the situation myself. I also advise you to focus on your house own affairs, particularly on the lack of heirs. If you like, I could offer advice in your choosing among your nephews. If Tyrion is still not an option for you, that is.” Rhaegar said with his best kingly posture: straight back, impassive face and stern voice.

_The same posture Tywin taught me years ago when he was the hand of the king and I, his devoted student. Ironic._

He held great respect for the old lion, a man who practically raised him and taught him to rule when Aerys could not. A man who protected house Lannister fiercely, even at the cost of his subjects life; the song Rains of Castamere served as a constant reminder of that fact.

Rhaegar didn’t agree with his methods, but respected his purpose and, for all that, wanted Tywin by his side, but alas… some things cannot be.

Tywin didn’t even try to hide the displeasure on his usually dispassionate visage. His sharp green eyes hardened and his jaw clenched tight, but the tone remained composed. “Of course. If you excuse me your graces, I will take my leave”.

“What was that?” Elia asked while they watched Tywin moving away.

“I have no idea of what passes through his head. Ever since I was a boy, the man plotted around the Red Keep…”

Rhaegar became even more alert of the warden of the west after the rebellion. Tywin not only refused to send help to the crown, he also showed up in King’s Landing’s gates with an army at the end of the war - to this day Rhaegar wasn’t sure in the aid of whom.

“Why would he want Viserys?”

“He wants an alliance with the crown. Always had. Do you remember how he threw Cersei at me? If I wanted he would have wrapped her for present.”

The jest did not amuse her.

“No, Rhaegar, the Lannister wants something else. He never offered his grandchildren to Rhaenys, Aegon or Daenerys, never. Even now, he only wants Viserys.”

“That is because they are already promised one to another and-“

“So were you, but he tried nonetheless, hadn’t he?”

That he did, relentlessly. He found strange Tywin didn’t made and offer for his children.

He frowned deeper _. None of the lords did… Some minor lords from the Crownlands or the Reach, but that was it._

Even the Velaryons and Celtigars remained quiet. Although Rhaegar had never expected them to proposition for Rhaenys anyway. His daughter didn’t have the silver hair, purple eyes and pale skin that the Velaryons hold in so much steam – she was not ‘valyrian’ enough is what many think, but would never dare to say out loud. Daenerys tough… They should have asked for her.

Elia continued. “He spent a great deal of time around Hoster Tully in the few days he is here. Jon Arryn too. Something is not right”.

What she was implying… It was horrible, and made sense.

_The lion is back on the prowl._

* * *

#### RHAENYS – I always knew this day would come.

The Red Keep – 301 AL (one week later).

She did what she could to avoid this day, but in all honesty, Rhaenys resented not having done more. She tried her luck with the Stark heir, the Royce one, even considered marring sweet Robyn, however running away from her destiny proved pointless. Targaryens marry brothers and sisters since the Valyrian Freehold, and she was a true Targaryen.

“You look beautiful dear.” Her mother was crying since morning, she didn’t want this union also.

Even knowing this day would come since she was a little girl, it still seems wrong.

“Nobody ever saw a most beautiful bride.” Daenerys smiled to her, pride shining in her eyes.

Rhaenys was very proud of her appearance in her wedding day. She wore a long, heavy and laced golden dress with a deep neck line. Her hair was pinned up and the make-up her handmaid did was a work of art. Soon she would wed her brother: a handsome, smart and kind prince. And in the future they would rule Westeros together. She would be queen and her life was perfect, she assured herself.

_So why do I feel so sad?_

“Perhaps a little more lipstick?” Her cousin, Tyenne Sand, had her fun frolicking over Rheanys like a girl would do to a doll.

“No, Tyenne, that’s enough.” Obara scowled, a habit typical of her.

“It’s more than enough, no?.” Daenerys added uncertain, reading a cloth to clean Rhaenys’ face of the insulting lipstick.

“More eyeliner then.”

“She is the bride,” Arianne Martell cut in, also annoyed with their cousin. “not some strumpet.” 

“And you do whores, so don’t start with the bitching, Arianne.” Nymeria Sand came in defense of her sister.

“I know what I’m doin’, you are just being a tramp on purpose”.

Rhaenys laughed at her cousins and aunt bickering. The one good thing about the weeding was the presence of the dornish part of her family. Uncle Dorian, Oberyn, Ellaria, Arianne, Quentyn and her bastard cousins - the Sand Snakes, daughters of uncle Oberyn - were here. Representatives of all the great noble families would be at the feast; a huge course with twenty plates, music and staged comedies. Her father spared no money on the weeding of his only children.

“She’s perfect as she is.” Her mother ended the discussion, eying her daughter with pride. “All mothers know this day will come, and yet we are never ready.” A lonely tear trailed the queen’s cheek.

“All mothers expect her daughter to move away from their homes though.” Rhaenys blurted out sharply and sarcastic. “Aren’t you lucky?”

Ignoring Elia’s discomfort and the uneasiness that befell in the room, Dany sought to lighten the mood. “I do feel lucky both my nephew and niece will stay around.” She knelt to fluff Rhaenys’ skirts. “It’s just what we always expected.”

Rhaenys understood her aunt meaning: _you knew this day would come since you were a child, why are you bitter?_ . Dany was right, Rhaenys understood her duty and fate, but she couldn’t help her feelings.

“Oh, you complain with your mouth full, cousin.” Nymeria commented. “You are marrying the most handsome and perfect young man in the seven kingdoms. I wish I could have Aegon in my bed, even if for one night.”

A burst of giggles erupted, the ladies eager at the prospect of ‘riding that dragon’. 

“Girls, please, it’s my son you are talking about.” The queen voice was serious, but her grin betrayed her amusement.

“Your carriage awaits princess”. Her lady in waiting Rose Mallery told her. “Time to go to the sept.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *You know those type of people who just stand around expecting you to anticipate all their wishes? That’s Rhaenys. She thinks she did ‘all she could’ to avoid marrying her brother, but she merely stood around snobbish waiting for someone to court the hell out of her and ask her in marriage. She never even told her father that she didn’t want to wed Aegon (in part ‘cause she certainly wants to be queen). In Willas pov, he says how she was arrogant and aloof with him, and Dany will say something alike next. You may also remember how she acted with Robb…
> 
> But Rhaenys doesn’t see that. She just blames her parents for not doing more for her, blames every one for her unhappiness. Ptss, I will tell ya a secret: she is inspired in a real person I know.


	18. Rhaella - Pathetic Rhaella... / Rhaenys - They're making alliances while we are alone.

#### RHAELLA – Pathetic Rhaella. Scorned Elia. Proud Rhaenys.

King’s Landing, Sept of Baelor – 301 AL.

The sept of Baelor was full with the lords of ladies from all corners of Westeros, the common people watching the commotion from the outside. The wedding between the future king and queen of the country was no small affair, and even the day – bright and sunny – seemed to conspire to the auspiciously of their union. Rhaella herself sat in the front rows - place of honor reserved for House Targaryen – accompanied by her younger son. Viserys should be next to his wife Arianne Martell, the heir of sunspear, as the consort prince of Dorne, but it came to no surprise when he openly spurned the dornish in favor of the Targaryens.

_Stupid boy. He reminds me of his father too much._

Her grandson stood in the altar, tall, handsome and beaming, a true prince of the realm. It was good that all the lords could see Aegon like that, and take notice that house Targaryen remained proud and strong. Rhaegar himself stood next to his son, and the king had an imposing look and royal bearing that commanded respect. Their silver hair shined brightly like a silver halo resembling a crown.

_Natural rulers, born to lead this country. Let none forget that._

“They arrived my queen.” Ser Oswell leaned to whisper in her ear.

She watched Elia walked down the aisle to join Rhaegar behind Aegon. Her daughter in law was majestic in a red and black velvet gown, just like her son, which complemented her lean figure, and an adorned golden crown.

One of Rhaella’s biggest regrets in life was to arrange the marriage between Rhaegar and Elia, daughter of her dear friend Mariah Martell. Aerys did not want it out of despite; her brother-husband refused to attend their wedding and insulted Elia and Rhaenys every chance he had. But the worst came after, when her son fell in love with Rickard Stark’s daughter, a girl who would be a great candidate as Rhaegar’s bride had he not being married already.

_He was married because I wanted it. I asked him. And therefore, he could not be with the woman he loved without causing a war._ The thought tighten her chest.

Still, in times when she observed Elia like this, so regal and imposing, she could afford some relief from the guilt.

“Mother…” Daenerys greeted her, sitting in her other side. In her peripheral vision she noticed the dornish ladies taking their places among their entourage. At any time the celebration would begin

“You look beautiful, Dany.” Viserys said. “I didn’t realize before, but with this gown…. You have a woman’s body now.” The insinuation did not please neither of the Targaryen women.

“Viserys…” Rhaella warned with gritted teeth.

“Hello brother, what a surprise seeing you here.” Daenerys answered, a fake smile adorning her face. “Shouldn’t you be with your wife’s family? You are her _consort_ after all.”

“I will stay right here.” Her son’s face turning red upon the mention of his title ‘consort’, his temper volatile and capricious identical to his father. “It smells like street mongrels amidst the Martells.”

To Rhaella utmost shame, Ser Oswell was close enough to hear that bit.

“Enough, Viserys!” Rhaella cut in, a quiet but scolding order. “I don’t want to hear it.”

The crowd turned back to see the bride entrance, and once again Rhaella felt that warm cozy sensation of rightness and hope. Her granddaughter was astounishing: tanned skin accentuated by a golden dress displaying a filigree of the three-headed dragon, top-knotted hair tied in an elaborated braid adorned with a delicate crown. Rhaenys inherited Elia’s coloring and slender figure, and Rhaegar’s gracious features.

_Rhaenys could be the muse of minstrels for generations to come._ Rhaella pondered smug.

Aegon waited his bride in the sept at the end of the aisle. The prince donned a similar vest Rhaegar did on his wedding to Elia – black rich velvet switched with the Targaryen symbol in red, combined with pants and boots of the same color. He stood tall and handsome, his silver rain glistening in the sun rays permeating the stained glass vitriols of the sept outshining his princely crown. 

_Any grandmother would be proud. This must turn out fine. Everything will be fine…_ She assured herself.

She glanced around the sept for the reactions of the many nobles present, and was satisfied with the stares of respect and admiration for her grandchildren.

Rhaella was very aware of how superficial she was being, but it was important for her. She cut a sad figure in her wedding: a thirteen year old girl, with tears in her eyes and pure fear on her visage. Aerys didn’t offer her a single kind look, but glanced Joanna Lannister with adoration and yearning through the whole feast.

For a time he was a good husband, he grieved with Rhaella the loss of their children and rejoiced over Rhaegar together. Then Dukensdale happened, and Rhaella became the scared pathetic thirteen year old again, only this time marred and covered in bruises and slashes inflicted by her mad brother.

_But not Rhaenys. She is a mighty princess and will be a mighty queen. Even if a bit too prideful sometimes._

_Not like beautiful pathetic Rhaella Targaryen, not like gracious scorned Elia Martell..._

Yes, that pleased her.

She watched Aegon switch Rhaenys’ maiden cloak for another identical cloak, both of House Targaryen. It was redundant and pointless – the same occurred in her wedding – but also amusing to see the Andal ceremony clash with the Valiryan practice of inter-marriage.

Aegon leaned forward to kiss his new wife, but Rhaenys stiffened like a wooden board. Her granddaughter barely gave him the time to a courteous kiss, and she was already moving on to the aisle, not a hint of happiness in her visage.

Just like that, Rhaella felt cold.

* * *

#### RHAENYS – They are making alliances while we are alone.

The Red Keep – 301 AL.

At the feast, Rhaenys tried to reach her goal of dancing with as many people as possible. She even danced one song with Joffrey Tully; the most despicable person on the face of the earth in her opinion. The only one she didn’t dance with was her brother.

That was fine… He was perfectly well spending time with the many beauties available.

“I remember my own wedding”. Her grandmother told her, whilst they observed Aegon dancing with a Westerling woman. “I tried to stay as distant as possible from Aerys until the bedding. Couldn’t stand the mix of hate and lust in his gaze. You are lucky, my dear, Aegon is a gentle lad, he will be a great husband”.

Her grandmother’s marriage was an experience out of nightmares. She felt sorry for her, but Rhaenys didn’t accept the older woman’s high ground. One’s misery should not be the base for another’s happiness.

“I will do my duty, grandmother. But I don’t have to smile to open my legs, so don’t worry.”

“Tisk”. Rhaella clicked her tongue. “It’s past time you learn some respect girl. Your arrogance may cost you much.”

“I may be not the perfect blushing bride, or the perfect princess. But my father was a perfect prince and look what he did: ran away with some little girl, fucked her in some Tower while the realm bled. Love and foolish dreams are what cost us grandmother, not bluntness.”

_The Prince of Dragonflies cast aside the crown for Jenny of Oldstones, a peasant with flowers in the hair._ Rhaenys mused when the song about their loved started in the background. _I am a princess, but_ _none loves me like that…_

“You say that, yet you are still young. I wonder if you will be so level-headed when you too fall in love.”

“My beautiful niece!” Uncle Oberyn shouted to her while approaching. “Can I have a moment with you?”

“Sure.” Rhaenys politely excused herself to accompany her uncle to a discreet corner.

_Anything to be away from grandmother now._

“So. Are you anxious?” His paramour Ellaria Sand also joined them bearing a suggesting smirk.

“No, I am not discussing this with you.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. We are only trying to help.” The prince uttered.

“Don’t need any help thanks. I am nineteen, a grown up girl.”

“Fine, we do not talk about it then.” He dismissed playfully, but adopted a more serious tone and face to whisper to her. “You do understand what this means politically?” He glanced around the room.

“My wedding?” She wondered confused.

“Uhum, your wedding. I tried to explain to Doran, I tried! But that fool…” He shook his head frustrated.

Rhaenys observed her uncle Doran, the prince regent of Dorne, chatting with her father across the room in his wheelchair. _Why is he so pissed?_

“Uncle, we all expected this. Targaryens marry bro-“

“Targaryens plough their own sisters and go nuts sometimes, I know, I know. It’s not it.” He interrupted her. “Listen… the royal family allied themselves to Dorne when they took Elia; that was fine. We both made allies. Then Rhaegar married Viserys to Arianne, and it was a reasonable decision, but only united two houses who were already united. Now he waste two potentially alliances by marrying you two.”

Rhaenys frowned, but offered no comments, so her uncle continued frustrated. “Usually I would not mind about our stronger ties, but the other great houses are exchanging daughters like a fishing market. The Wardens should have been offering brides and grooms to their bannermans, not each other. As is stands they are united by blood-ties, all of ‘em…”

The implication send a chill down her spine. _How I did not see it before?_

“We don’t have allies…”

“Glad you understand”. He nodded. “The Lannisters have the Tullys; the Tullys have the Arryns and the Starks. Sansa Stark will be wed soon to my friend Willas Tyrell, then the Tyrells will enter the pot. They are making these alliances and gathering strength, while we are alone.”

“We… We have the crownlands and Dorne. Targaryens and Martells are the most prominent houses in Westeros, they would never dare to go against us anym-“

He scoffed. “That’s a lot of horseshit Doran loves to shove down our throats; the other houses barely respect the power of the crown anymore. And, as much as I hate to admit it, they never held much respect for Dorne, despite our history of victories. Do you know how many soldiers Dorne sent to aid your father in the rebellion? Ten thousand spearmen. Not mounted cavalry; spearmen. I am afraid our real power is limited by our borders.”

“But my father won the rebellion.” She said resolute. “He did best them all!”

“Barely…”. A tormented look took over him. “They were so close Rhaenys… If Robert Baratheon had won I… I was away in Essos and instead of helping…”. A heavy sigh whilst he shook his head. “Your father had luck, that’s the truth. And he had Highgarden at the time. It’s happening again. They joined to dethrone a mad king and they are doing it again!”

“My father is not mad and my brother will not abduct any prized bitch!”

“That may be true, but the higher taxes lately are equally bothersome.” Oberyn stated somber.

“The lords know the crown is building a merchant fleet, which will benefit all the realm. They will receive compensation later when they are able to use the ships instead of having to pay those absurd fees for Volantis and Bravos.” She recited from memory.

_That’s what father told me._

“Not all regions partake in trade with Essos. In fact, Dorne is the one with true major gains, followed by the crownlands. Doran received a raven from Tywin Lannister a few months ago asking how house Martell propose to pay the other houses for the investment the king _is giving at the expense of all the others_. Do you understand my concern?” He asked; dark and tormented eyes bearing into hers.

Rhaenys swallow heavily. What a disaster… Many speculations came to her and none was pleasant. _Are they plotting behind out back?_

Which brought another old concern that nagged her peace for quite a time: _Why no one proposed for my hand really?_

“There is still Daenerys.” She remarked.

“Who Doran wants for Quentyn. That is one of his reasons to come, to ask her hand for your cousin. Tristane is no good either, he is already promised to a Bravosi.”

“Have you talked to my mother?”

He sighed heavily again. “I could but… Elia don’t have stomach from confrontations, you know it. She didn’t fight for you, and she won’t fight for Daenerys. You must stop your father from doing anything foolish.”

The princess fell her throat tighten. Tullys, Tyrells, Lannisters, Starks, their bannerman… They surrounded her, laughing and jesting in the celebration of her wedding. Robb Stark greeted Aegon like they were long lost friends. Were they all traitors?

Her mother told her how her grandfather, the Mad King, saw treason in everyone’s speech and actions. Daggers in every shadow. How he became paranoid and cruel with the people near him.

No. She didn’t want to follow the same path. If anything was going on, her father would have known.

“Don’t worry, uncle. I will see to Daenerys.” She assured him. “But don’t say such things, please. The realm is strong and united. If we distrust everyone, they will gather and plot behind our backs with the same malice they learnt from us.” She watched his mouth twist in a grim and he looked away.

“Rhaenys!!” Her cousin Tyene shouted from across the room, next to a group of ladies. Amidst them was Daenerys smiling brightly at her. “Come and dance, this is your party. Father, stop keeping her for yourself!”

“Come here, Rhae!” Another scream.

Rhaenys laughed happily. This was her wedding; she had to enjoy it.

“Alright, alright.” Oberyn waved the young women off amused. “Go on then. Get drunk with them, you have a long night ahead.” He let her off with a wink.

___________________________________________

“We thank House Lannister for this wonderful gift”. Aegon said loud and merry, lifting his new sword for everyone to see.

One by one the lords gifted the bride and groom like tradition demanded. Tywin Lannister decided for a sword - richly ornamented - but just a common sword. Rhaenys knew the man enough to suspect it was a veiled insult to Egg’s lack of martial prowess.

Or may be just her cynicism talking.

Her father and mother presented them books, Lord Merryweather a collection of golden cutlery, Lord Manderly beautiful pelts of a rare snow fox, Lady Arryn some shippments of silk from Pentos, Lord Redwyne wine caskets from his special reserve… The presents kept coming and Rhaenys got sleepier with each one of them. Aegon, on his part, received all with great enthusiasm.

“Prince and princess” A strange men stood in front of them, from Essos by his clothing. Their parents invited many rich merchants with whom they maintain business in Essos for her wedding.

The princess care not for the essossis, but she wished this one wasn’t invited, he was disgusting - tall and obese, with greasy forked blonde beard.

“I am Illyrio Mopatis, magister from the great Free City of Pentos”. He bent in a sluggish courtesy, and glanced to the queen and king watching him with courteous smiles. “I predict a future of great wealth and prosperity for Essos due to our booming relations with house Targaryen! Therefore I came to you with this special gift, most appropriated for the house of the dragon.”

He opened a delicate box on their table and she took a moment to understand what its contents was. Inside there were three perfect dragon eggs: one black, one green and one white. Her breath failed for a moment. Rushed murmurs filled the room.

“This is invaluable Sir”. Aegon said lifting an egg closer to his face. “I don’t know how to thank you for this.”

Even her father left his spot to gaze at the dragons with wonder. Rhaenys herself was delighted, finally she received a gift worth of her. As a Targaryen it was only right she had dragon eggs.

“My I ask where did you acquire such relics, magister?” Her father courteously asked.

“From the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai, your grace, at the borders of the Jade Sea. Some of the shadowbinders still possess fossilized dragon eggs among their most prized treasures.”

_Wait… Fossilized?_

“But none can hatch it, except the blood of the dragon.” The king mumbled to himself, absorbed in his own musings.

“We are really grateful, magister Mopatis.” Her brother repeated.

“Please, my prince, it’s but a humble gift. They are not even real eggs I am afraid. You see, time turned them into stone, but they will always be beautiful.” The magister bowed again and moved away with a side smile, sure that none other gift would be greater than his. And he was right.

The gifting continued but she didn’t care. The Magister said the eggs turned to stone, such a shame. Rhaenys caressed the green egg with fondness. The prophecy her father loved so much talked about a prince who would wake dragons from stone, and he believed Aegon to be the prince.

Gazing the eggs, Rhaenys dreamed it was she and not her brother.

“Rhaenys” Egg tugged her sleeve. “It’s time.”

The princess suddenly took notice of the commotion in the place; drunk men and women giggling and calling for the bedding, heads high with excitement. Her smiling brother was the first to be pushed to the direction of their shared quarters, hauled by a bunch of exuberant ladies. Aegon loved the attention, but Rhaenys had to steel herself to endure the same at the hands of the men who cornered her.

For the first time since the festivities began, her father had the decency to look uncomfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Of course her father would be uncomfortable; his two children are going to a room to get smush with each other, hehe. Rhaenys is not bothered about the ‘incest’ part. It’s the ‘I don’t have a choice’ combined with ‘nobody loves me’ parts her beef.


	19. Daenerys- My kingsguard. My friend. / Jaime - Different king. Same threat.

#### DAENERYS – My kingsguard. My friend.

Dany hoped her wedding to be jollier than this mummery. Aegon looked happy enough - she supposed - but Rhaenys was a total mess for the whole ceremony. Her niece didn’t shed a tear, but Dany knew her best friend and sister at heart better than anyone.

Elia thought the reason for her daughter to be upset was the incest factor of the union. Daenerys understood differently; Rhaenys was a romantic, she wanted love but refused to admit such. Aegon would never love her beyond what one would love a sister, he would never provide her with the epic romantic tale she secretly craved.

_Like how Rhaegar loved lady Lyanna, ironically._

Daenerys was not so naive, she ought to be next and she will have to leave her family to enter another one, go to a strange place with different people that may treat her badly, unlike Rhaenys.

She analyzed all the possible candidates in the party. With luck, it would be possible to take her destiny in her own hands and chose the one herself. A pleasant, literate and courteous young man would be perfect. Even more preferable if he was comely and quiet.

Willas Tyrell fit that bill superbly, she mused gazing the heir of Highgarden from afar. Unfortunately he had just spoken to her about his new betrothal to Sansa Stark, the red-hair beauty of the north, and he seemed very pleased with the arrangement.

“I am grateful that this feast allowed me to meet her before our engagement,” He said while dancing with Dany, glancing to the Stark’s table periodically to get a glimpse of lady Sansa. His shining eyes spoke loud about his enthusiasm with his northern bride. “now I rest easy, and looking forward for the future.”

_Good for you_.. She mused envious, admiring Willas’ broad shoulders and soft brown eyes. Despite his faulty leg, he would have made a superb match for her.

To think Rhaenys was certain she could snatch Robb Stark for herself a couple years ago, only to have her plans trashed with the news of his perfect beloved bride. _She must have felt a little like I am right now._

For better or worse, Robb Stark did not lie: lady Alys was indeed delightful. She trailed alongside her husband carrying their little baby with her, her conversation was witty and polite, and her overall looks weren’t bad either.

As if Rhaenys wasn’t upset enough…

“That’s the _lovely_ betrothed he yearned so much for in my presence?” Rhaenys had said throwing a side look to the Stark couple. “Is he daft or what?”

“She is very comely, I think.” Daenerys answered simply. There was no merit in debating the subject to an affronted Rhaenys. Even if she agreed that Rhaenys far surpassed the Karstark girl in beauty and presence.

She huffed. “Maybe, but I am a princess for gods’ sake. If he had any ounce of intellect, he would have accepted my proposal. Or Willas!” She turned to glance the Heir of Highgarden. “Sansa Stark may be pretty, I give it to her, but to put me aside for that bland girl? Argh!” Rhaenys said and took a big gulp of her cider.

Daenerys rolled her eyes and said nothing as Rhaenys moved away. He niece liked to think that she tried to find suitors, but truth is she never talked to any of them about marriage, merely stood around expecting them to approach her - if out of sheer vanity or insecurity Dany didn’t know.

The wise learn with the mistake of others, so Daenerys was determined to not make the same mistake of her niece. She would actively find a suitor for herself before Rhaegar marry her off somewhere.

Willas’ brothers were out of question. Garlen was already wed and Loras didn’t show any interest in her, _at all_. Joffrey Tully as well, what he had in beauty was spoiled by a rotten personality. He sneered too much, mocked others with cruelty, and there were stories… She shook her head determined to pretend he didn’t exist.

Prince Quentyn Martell was not so bad, she admitted, but was she being too picky for wanting someone a little bit more attractive and sure of himself? He was so… ugly. The prince’s dear friend Cletus Yronwood, on the other hand, was very handsome, but too randy.

Melor Hightower was another good-looking fellow, and without the lustfulness of Cletus. She take note to keep a close eye on him.

Auster Florent, no. Jaron Beesbury, no. Richard Morrigen was in his forties, but she placed him as a maybe. Gidden Falwell, maybe. Adam Marbrand, yes. Colren… Kenning? Tenning? She didn’t remember, but he seems nice. Alvar Serrett, not in a way.

There is Dickon Tarly, she recalled, he was quite young yet but would grow into a fine young man. If only -

“Oh gods!” Dany felt the cold liquid spilling on her dress before realizing the wide-eyed serving maid, who had just bumped into her. “Your grace, I am so sorry… Please forgive me my princess, please…” 

“Sush, that’s okay, this was nothing.” Dany assured the young woman kindly, observing the huge wine stain in her once light-blue gown. “Red and blue match quite nicely, don’t you think?”

The subtle joke didn’t work, for the maid continue to cower afraid of a punishment. One of the chaperones appeared and clutched her arm painfully, his face flushed with rage.

“Stupid girl! Look what you have done, you will be flogged for it!” The girl gasped scared whilst he turned to Daenerys, as if he was doing her a favor. “Please forgive us your grace. She will be severely punished for her clumsiness, I swear to you. This girl will wish her back gone at the end of day.”

Horrified by the scene in front of her, Dany recoiled in outrage. “Absolutely not! She did nothing wrong, it was I who stood in front of the kitchen door, the fault is mine. Let her go immediately.” She ordered.

“But… my princess! She must be disciplined for wh-”

“I just told you it was my fault, are you suggesting I am lying?”

“No, your grace.” He cowered behind the maid, more afraid than the woman.

“Then let her go this moment.” She said angry.

The girl vanquished back to the kitchens in a hurry, as soon her arm was freed. The thankful gaze in her eyes was everything Daenerys got, and it was more than enough for the princess. The chaperone, confused, stared his feet, unsure how to deal with that particular silver haired Targaryen.

“You may return to your duties as well. And I expect no repercussion will happen out of this, especially to that maid, or you will be sorry.” She said dismissing him.

___________________________________________

“I saw what happened, is everything okay?” Aegon caught up to her later, his eyes glancing to the stained dress. By his side stood his cousin Arianne, the sultry dornish princess and Gerold Dayne, who the rumors claimed was her lover.

“Oh, this?” She ran her hand over the wine stain. “This is nothing. A poor maid bumped into me, it was an accident.”

The dornish knight scoffed sardonic. “These kitchen wenches are useless. Nothing a few lashes won’t fix.”

Gerold Dayne; the Knight of High Hermitage also known as Darkstar, cousin of Ser Arthur Dayne. A skilled warrior himself, and very handsome with purple eyes, silver hair, high cheekbones and an aquiline nose. _All that wasted in this cruel spiteful man_.

Arianne was a beauty herself, and cunning. Dany could not fault her for take a lover, considering how Viserys despised and ignored his wife, but why this man? She could have anyone she wanted.

_If_ the rumors about the two being lovers were true, of course. Who was she to say?

“Like I just spoke, Ser Gerold, it was an accident and it was my fault. I stood in the way of the servants who attend the festival, she was just doing her job. And no harm was done, it’s just a dress.” 

Her nephew shrugged. “Of course, there are no need to flog the servants like that. But you are not going to be in this dress for the rest of the party, right?” Egg asked horrified, and Dany had to chuckle at her fashionable nephew. “I am sure one of your handmaidens can help you.”

“Oh common, Egg, it’s a wine stain. Most of the dresses here have one of this by now. No big deal.” She japed.

“My certainly do.” Princess Arianne said smiling, ruffling her skirts so they could see the little stains on the silk. “I think it adds character.”

Both princess laughed while Aegon shook his head amused. “So much horrors in this wedding. Next thing you know the wine will ran dry. Scandalous.”

“Well, men will not drink too much I hope, they have a tourney to compete starting tomorrow.” Dany commented. “Are you going to participate, Darkstar?”

“Princess Martell here convinced me too. Dorne needs good representatives, and I am the best.” He answered lazily.

“And the most handsome too,” Arianne added sultry. “if there is one better in Dorne, I don’t know him.”

_Ser Arthur Dayne is the better in Dorne. The better in Westeros. But Darkstar’s envy of the Sword of the Morning is public knowledge_. Daenerys thought but said nothing, just feigning a smile.

“The gifting will start soon; I should look for my sist-- my bride.” Her nephew uttered. “Just came to check on you, see if everything was fine.”

“As you can see, it was nothing.”

“Yeah, but honestly I knew you were fine, I was just curious. Bet you jumped in to defend that girl.” He smiled.

“Really? How did you know that?”

“Because that’s who you are, Dany, and I wouldn’t have it any other way”. He glanced back and sign to his companions to move ahead. “I have to go now. Receiving gifts never gets boring to me.” 

___________________________________________

She observed Rhaenys and Aegon being dragged away for the bedding, and saw Elia’s anguish and Rhaegar’s sadness. The last took her by surprise: he was the one who pushed the two together the most; she supposed he would be content. Her mother sure was very content, hopeful about the future.

Dany’s feelings were more confusing. Any maiden would be glad to take Aegon in her bed as her husband, but at the same time she was thankful it was not her. They grew up together and she considered him as a brother.

_Although, in my family ‘as a brother’ does not held the same meaning._

It was all very confusing.

The eggs were a nice addition, she remembered happily, even if fossilized. For the first time Dany saw how a dragon egg looked like in real life, outside the pages of books. None was hers, still she hoped Egg and Rhae would let her keep one in her room for a while, so she could gaze at it eventually. It was silly, but Dany grew up with the stories of the might of dragons; they were part of her history, of who she was. The legend, although dead, sang deep into her soul.

The feast would continue for hours in the morning, but Daenerys had enough and decided to retire to her chambers. She said goodnight and excused herself to her brother, his wife Elia, her mother and many other lords and ladies whom she was acquainted with, mostly Elia’s family.

Neither Viserys or Arianne were present any longer, and she doubted they were together whenever they were.

Ser Jaime was the one responsible to accompany her to her chambers that night, but she could not find him anywhere. She could ask for another kingsguard to escort her, but Jaime was very serious towards his duties and she didn’t want to give him a reason to be upset.

As the youngest kingsguard he was the one responsible to keep track of the three of them when they were little, chasing them through the gardens, corridors and tunnels beneath the Red Keep. As a result, Jaime was very dear to her; despite his arrogance and rashness, the Lannister was witty and honest, and had a soft spot in him that one could only notice if they bother to pay closer attention.

He was also brilliant with a sword, bold, tall, muscular and extremely attractive – like a knight out of the stories. When they were younger, she and Rhaenys were infatuated with the golden young lion, which cause them to keep annoying Jaime everywhere he went. Nowadays Daenerys mocked Jaime for the reactions his good-looks caused in the women in the keep, and gave him a cart once to help him carry the swooning ladies in his trail.

_Follow the swooning ladies and I will find him_ , she japed to herself.

“Lord Tyrion,” She caught up with the imp, who was drinking his fill in a corner. “have you seen your brother?”

“My princess,” He greeted her. “Jaime was with me not long ago, but he left to the gardens to meet a most stunning blonde.”

“Oh? Could be that the proud kingsguard is forgetting his vows?” She said playfully.

“My sister.” He explained deadpanned.

“Oh….” Dany uttered sheepish. “She does look good, doesn’t she?”

Tyrion chuckled amused. “Yep, and so does Jaime. Do you want me to search for them?”

“No, no. I can do it myself, thank you. Enjoy the festivities.”

He lifted his cup with a nod. “I sure am. Keep your hand in one of the sides of the labyrinth in the gardens my princess. This way, you are certain to find him eventually.”

_Hum, clever._ “Thank you, I will do it.”

___________________________________________

Daenerys regretted looking for Jaime in the gardens, at night and during a wedding feast. The gardens were as beautiful in the night as it was in the day, and not a little bit scary despite the darkness. But the amount of couples she caught in the act among the bushes were overwhelming.

If this keep happening, the red of embarrassment in her face would became permanent. 

_Why did he hide himself so well? Isn’t he meeting with his sister?_

It took a while but she found him, and Lady Cersei was by his side. The dimming light of a torch shone in their hair of a beaten gold, and the two cut a striking figure. Daenerys used a tree to hide herself; she wanted to fetch Jaime, but was too embarrassed to interrupt his conversation with his twin. Going away to wait for him to finish was not an option, she could be seen and it would even more embarrassing.

“Hoster is still angry about the war”. Daenerys heard lady Cersei say. “The Starks, Arryns…. Let’s just say they are unhappy with the Targaryens. Father is only smart enough to see an opportunity where there is one.”

“What? This is treason. And for what? Rhaegar is a good king!” Jaime retorted aloud.

Treason? Daenerys went pale. Of all the things she hoped to hear, this was the most unnerving of all. She wanted to ran away for there, but there was the risking of getting caught. 

“Keep your voice down, there are ears everywhere.” Lady Cersei admonished and they glanced around. Daenerys shrunk her body behind the tree even more, and held her breath.

Cersei continued. “He is decent, I suppose. They know it, they just don’t care. There is really no reason to remain under the Targaryens anymore, but father wanted to get Viserys at least, like an assurance.”

They were talking about treason, a plot involving four of the seven great houses in the realm. Daenerys listened to all behind the tree sobbing quietly; the fragility of her family’s position, the risk of war… It was too much for her. She feared for her family’s safety.

But she could not divulge what she heard either, as lady Cersei has said: nothing was certain. If she put the seeds in her family’s heads, she might as well start the war herself.

_What do I do? What do I do?_

Dany also learned of a problematic new aspect of the Lannister twins relationship, one she could never have guessed and would not believe if Jaime wasn’t kissing his sister right there in front of her. A full deep kiss only shared by close lovers. Whatever she does with the information, she had to be smart about it.

* * *

#### JAIME - Different king. Same threat.

Jaime and Cersei, by Magah Villeneuve

He stood outside the festivities waiting for his sister. Cersei had come to King’s Landing with the Tullys for the royal weeding, and all Jaime could think of was how disturbing it was to be near her again – and how she was still the most beautiful woman in the world to him. The last time, they were lying in bed together, a last farewell before her wedding, seventeen years ago. They exchanged letters since, but it wasn’t the same.

She had three children now with her husband Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun – a whole life apart from him.

“Jaime…” She walked towards him, all golden and beautiful in a green dress. They hugged each other tightly and shared a kiss like they did so many times before. Cersei had been the only woman he danced with in the party. She roamed her hands along his body, and Jaime was losing himself. _No, this is wrong…_

“No, Cersei” He pushed her away. “I made vows…”

Her face showed all her anger, she asked bitterly “Have your cock shrivel here, brother? That white clock finally get to your balls?”

“I said no! Dammit Cersei, we haven’t seen each other for so long…” He sighed. “Just wanted to talk to you.” She twisted her mouth.

“Fine, then talk. What do you want?”

“What is father doing? He is holding these little meetings with Hoster Tully all the time, and Jon Arryn. People are noticing.”

“Why shouldn’t he? My children are Tullys. Many subjects to talk about…” She was trying to dismiss the subject, he could tell.

“Don’t try Cersei, I know something is going on. Tyrion agree; these meetings behind closed doors, letters bein’ sent all the time… The king is getting suspicious.”

Tyrion was the first one to notice and bring it to his attention. _‘Rhaegar is more watchful of father, and I can’t blame him. The Targaryens and Lannisters have too much bad blood for this kind of cloak and daggers’_ he had said, which Jaime agreed. However, none of them new what father was plotting.

“Oh, and you came running to do his bidding then? Like a good little kingsguard.”

“I am a Lannister first, always will be.” He held her arm and pleaded. “Tell me what is going on.”

His sister thought for a moment, then made her mind. “Hoster is still angry about the war. The Starks, Arryns…. Let’s just say they are unhappy with the Targaryens. Father is only smart enough to see an opportunity where there is one.”

“What?” Jaime went pale. “This is treason. And for what? Rhaegar is a good king!”

“Keep your voice down, there’re ears everywhere.” She was right, now was not the moment to get carried away. “He is decent, I suppose. They know it, they just don’t care. There is really no reason to remain under the Targaryens anymore, but father wanted to get Viserys at least, like an assurance.”

“If they are so angry with Rhaegar, why not Aegon? He is a worthy heir, he has been proving himself lately. They must know it.”

“Aegon won’t give them any power either, and he is loyal to his father”. She noticed Jaime distress. “Don’t worry so much, brother. Nothing is certain; father is just preparing himself, just in case.”

“Why now? The war was years ago.”

“Takes time to recover from a war, Jaime. And Eddard Stark will soon bring the Tyrells to the fold with his daughter. There was also the risk before of the king forcing a wedding between his children and one of the houses, but the fool went ahead and married them to each other…” Cersei was beaming, anything related to their house superiority brought her joy.

“This cannot be happening. Fuck!” He ranked his hand through his hair.

“I told you nothing is certain.” Cersei caressed his face playfully. “The king is paying for his arrogance; he should had let you go when father asked. He should have married me.” Jaime agreed Rhaegar ought to never have dismissed the power of house Lannister, but not that he should had married Cersei or stripped Jaime of the white cloak.

She continued to caress him. “I missed you Jaime. Your kiss, your heat. I miss the feeling of you inside me, of our nights together…”

No more than he missed her. She had a family, husband and children, and he remained here.

It could be worse: he served a good king, the other white cloaks were like his brothers, and Tyrion was around as master of coin. It was not the glamorous, adventurous life he fancied as a boy, but it was better than being the heir of Casterly Rock.

With this in mind, he took her hand from his face and held it for a moment. “I missed you too.”

Jaime kissed her with all the love and longing of their missed years – one last kiss - then turned his back and walked away before he could change his mind. Neither of the Lannister twins noticed Daenerys hiding closely behind a tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Rhaegar is a good king, and Aegon is a worthy heir, but the rebellion happened and with it came resentment and anger. But that’s not all….
> 
> I compare the power of a king with the worth of printed money. Imagine you have a fifty dollar bill. You know, for certain, that piece of paper can buy 4 lbs of steak. Sure, there is a bit of inflation, but it’s just a bit. You thrust in the power of that paper, you don’t question it or deny it, just accept it. It’s worth 4 lbs of steak.
> 
> Now, imagine that only one year prior a huge recession happened. For a time, your money could not make ends meet, and a fifty dollar bill could afford next to nothing. Nowadays, it’s ‘worth’ returned, but thing is: you don’t believe it anymore, nor does the merchant or the neighbors. You stash food at home for precaution, and prefer to exchange goods. Why? Because the illusion of the power of that printed paper is shaken, and it can be lost if the government doesn’t take action.
> 
> A king like Rhaegar (no dragons) it’s the same thing. Robert almost won the war, the rebellion exposed the power of the Targaryen crown that otherwise would have remained unchecked. People would never think about it, or question it, if not for the rebellion. That’s why Tullys, Lannisters and Arryns plot and prepare…. It’s a ‘just in case’ kind of thing. It’s also a ‘we could do it if we tried’ sentiment.
> 
> Plus, Rheagar has been charging some pretty high taxes lately due to his fleet (Oberyn said it to Rhaenys). He has an excuse, of course, and promise to return it, but higher taxes are higher taxes.
> 
> Image here: https://jaimecerseigot.tumblr.com/


	20. Rhaenys – We have a duty, my sister-wife.

#### RHAENYS – We have a duty, my sister-wife.

She was dragged by a group of man to the room, singing bawdy tunes and laughing while they undressed her. Her brother suffered a similar fate in the hands of the abhorrent giggling women. After shouting some obscene suggestions about ‘how to polish the royal scepter’ and ‘milk the royal juice’ they left the new couple alone.

“It is done now. We are married.” He said still smiling.

“Not yet, brother. We have a consummation to go through.” Rhaenys replied serious and pointed her finger at the bed.

“Yes, but that the easy part.” Aegon said, undressing himself with good humor.

Rhaenys, on the other hand, crossed her arms and stared at him aloof. Her brother was quick to notice her attitude, but did not lose the amusement.

“Rhae, I know you’ve never done this before, but it’s better to do it naked. I assure you”. He quipped a bit. “I will make you feel good, just relax.”

_Of course he know everything about it!_ She rolled her eyes. _He fucked his way through this keep_.

Deep down, she didn’t care. Unlike their father, Egg knew how to distinguish his responsibilities from his fancies, and never cogitated about marrying with any of his conquests. Unfortunately, it was that same sense of responsibility that made him so calm about marrying and bedding her.

Instead of undressing, Rhaenys choose to distract him with the best of her arsenal.

“Those eggs… What do you think? I never thought I would have a dragon egg.”

Aegon’s eyes brightened. Her idea worked, at least for a little while.

“Yes! It’s only a matter of time Rhae, I know it. I will hatch them, father always told me so.”

“How will you?” She poked him. “Great-grandfather tried, and it cost us Summerhall and many Targaryens.”

“I would never put us in such risk. Fire and blood Rhae. My blood and a pyre, it should be enough.”

He sounded sure of it, but his frown betrayed his uncertainty. If it was so simple, how so many have tried and failed? He must have read the doubt in her expression, since his hurried to assure her. “My blood is special because I am the prince who was promised, Rhae, I am chosen by the gods. It will work with me.”

“Egg…” She sighed exasperate. How foolish could her brother be? “You heard the magister. They are fossilized, nothing will come of it.”

“It has to. The witch prophesized many years ago, grandmother and grandfather married because of it. It cannot be all for nothing. And how can he be sure of it anyway? They may be alive, and we just don’t understand enough to know.”

She nodded pensive. “Then what are we waiting? Let’s try.”

“To do what?” Egg inquired confused.

“To hatch them.”

He stare at her confused. “We will, but… Rhae this our wedding night.” She breathed deeply and looked away. “Are you so unwilling to lay with me? What is it? Are you afraid?”

“Afraid of you?” She scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous Egg. I am not afraid, not of you and not of sex. It is so hard to understand why I am not inclined to sleep with you?”

“Is because we are siblings?“ He prompted her gently.

“No, it is not because we are siblings!” That was insulting. She was as much of a Targaryen as him. If their ancestral practices were no bother to Egg, of course it would be no bother to her. “ I just don’t want you, not like that.” She glanced at his golden lean torso, his handsome face, and felt nothing. “There is no desire.” Rhaenys whispered.

Aegon joined her sitting in the bed.

“And I don’t desire you either. You are beautiful sister, but…” He averted her gaze with sadness. “I don’t know. We have a duty, that’s all I care about. This is not the end of the world.”

That complacency let her angry. She sneered and got up, trying not to lash out at her brother. “How? How can you dance and laugh and talk during the entire wedding, then fuck me and not care about anything?! What is your problem?”

“What did you expect me to do?” Aegon followed Rhaenys in her anger. A rare thing for him. “Scowl and brood during most of the party like you did?! The realm is watching us Rhaenys, we have a role to fulfill and you know that very well! Always did! So _I_ ask you: What is _your_ problem?”

“Nothing! I just…”

“Just what?!” He sounded exasperated. “What do you want anyway?”

She scoffed upset. “Does it even matter what I want?”

“It does to me, yes. But the world does not care about our desires, our hopes or our grieves. It just moves on”. He huffed and looked away.

In any other situation, Rhaenys would have tried to comfort him. But right now there was only resentment in her heart; against him, against her father, against the realm…. She felt sorrow, grief, but couldn’t tell about what exactly. Just a feeling of something precious stolen from her.

_Is it my future? My choices?_ She vigorously wiped the tear in her eye. Crying was for feeble women, not her. _Maybe my happiness?_

“Don’t you think I want a wife who loves me instead of you?” Her brother muttered quietly while staring his hands, mayhaps as an effort to not look at her. “Do you think I have no feelings at all about this? I do, Rhaenys! But I bottle them up and move on, like everyone else.”

Aegon start to pace at random in the tight confinement of the bedchamber, still focused on his hands. “And unlike everyone else, I will be king one day. I am a prince surrounded by riches and with a castle of my own. You are no different – entitled with privileges most people can’t even dream off. All this comes with responsibilities, in case you forgot. So grow up and stop feeling sorry for yourself, for we don’t deserve any pity.”

He sat in an armchair with his head down and sighing defeated. Rhaenys gazed her brother speechless. She forgot to think about how he was feeling beneath his princely mask, which he used so expertly that even she was fooled atimes. But he was not happy and delighted as he lured people to think, Rhaenys suspected his rant was a much needed confession - one Aegon repressed out of obligation.

She gave up. He was right, it was their duty. What use would be to run away from it? She was a Targaryen princess, there was nothing for her outside her family.

“Very well, Egg.” She stood up and began to undress. “Take off your pants.” She mumbled, her hands trembling as she unfastened the ties of her gown.

Her brother gaze her naked body for a while, but his sad semblance was not worthy of a groom on his weeding night with a beautiful maiden. He breathed heavily and guided her to the bed, helping Rhaenys to lay in the adequate position for consummating their marriage.

“Don’t think about it.” He whispered gently in her ear, sensing the nervousness in the body beneath him.

_So much giggling, half-told gossips and poems about this moment…_ She mused distracted, trying not to think about the sharp pain between her legs when her brother entered her. His eyes were closed and his breath ragged; soon drops of sweat formed on his brown as he pound into her body with the determination of a man with a job to do.

He never opened his eyes. He never said her name. She answered in kind.

_Uncle was right: women are crazy. They ought to be to enjoy this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Aegon is not bothered at all with this marriage. I personally believe that the way we are raised has an enormous power to shape a person, and most people (not all) just mold into it. Nobles, princes and princesses are expected to marry with or without love involved. Aegon had to marry his sister, he knew it since childhood, he did it. Simple as that.


	21. JON – City of bloody bricks.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astapor here: https://www.fantasyflightgames.com/en/news/2017/2/10/the-fall-of-astapor/  
> Spear Brigade here: https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/File:T_Jedruszek_SpearBrigade.jpg  
> Cannibal here: https://www.quora.com/What-s-a-tinfoil-hat-theory-you-support-in-ASOIAF

#### JON – City of bloody bricks.

Astapor - 302 AL (beginning of the year).

Astapor, by Mark Molnar.

Jon and his men rode for three months to get to the city of Astapor. By now, Harry Strickland must know Jon already figured out his intent. The road had been tough, and a lot of money had to be spent in order to keep the spirits high, after all, they were outcasts now.

Thankfully he accumulated a great deal of gold in the last years, so he still had enough to keep going, but not enough for buying the amount of warriors he wanted. They opted to pitch camp outside the city walls, near as possible of a big oasis, as a way to avoid the heat.

Didn’t help much. The ancient ghyscari city stood alone in a sea of sand, and all Jon could think of was the colors beige and red. Beige grounds, beige landscape, red walls, red pyramids, red buildings, red fountains…

Astapor was built entirely with red bricks, which unnerved him. The poetic version claims they became red with the blood of the slaves who made them. An old rhyme gave weight to said version. _‘Bricks and blood built Astapor, and bricks and blood her people’._

To be fair, the astapori dressed themselves in fine fabrics of rich colors, such as dark blue, orange, yellow, pink… resulting in a very colorful picture. They wrapped the cloth around their body comfortably, and called it ‘tokar’. The free astaporis only. Slaves walked around in rags, and few wore more refined clothing as a way to demonstrate the station of their masters.

Jon came recently to a conclusion that Westeros wasn’t so different from Essos after all. Westerosi commoners were equally subjected to the whims of the nobles; they also wore rags if the lords wished for more taxes to pay for their ladies’ jewelry, or whatever stupid thing they wanted; they also were raped and tortured without being able to defending themselves or acquiring justice.

_Slaves might have the advantage still - it’s no benefit to the master to let his slave starve and see his investment wither. Peasants may not even be valorized that much._

He walked with Jorah, Lazos, Bracham and some of his officers in the biggest market of the city - a flesh market really, romantically named ‘Plaza of Pride’. Astapor primary – and maybe only – source trade were its slaves. Any kind a person could wish for were displayed in the market: bed slaves, fieldhands, scribes, craftsmen, tutors and his favorite, soldiers. Some of them were luxury itens, well feed and cleaned, exposed in the shade, while others…

“What a shithole.” A market such as this provoked disgust even in an Essossi who pretty much grew up among the slave trade, like Bracham. “They even reek of... Hell, I have no idea what. A sty would smell better.”

Jon shrugged. “Not a pleasant place, but we are not here on field trip, so don’t start bitching.” 

Jon gazed at a noble man, dressed in silk and perfume, examining some naked young boys for purchase. He had an idea for what purpose.

The Plaza of Pride was not even the worst. They passed through the Plaza of Punishment, where new saves were brought in, hauled through past rebellious slaves who had been punished or executed. There was also the fighting pits, which Jon was very interest in visiting at first, before Bracham warned him that one of the most cherished spectacles was to put children against bulls or bears.

He was no saint, but that was sick.

“Now we are one of them.” Jorah remarked; another one determined to make his life hard. The knight didn’t want to buy slaves, all right, but they need it.

“Are you trying to annoy me?”. He asked the knight, but didn’t expect any reply. The lad ignored him and added. “You remember what I told you all? If anyone ask my name is Fay Lanren.”

“We remember, the others received a note as well.” One soldier stated.

“Good. People will start to talk too much and I don’t want Harry to see me coming.”

He barely finish to speak, when the most haunting voice in the world reached his ears – and everyone else’s in the market – yelling at the top of his longs.”CAP’N SNOW! CAP’N JON SNOW!”

_So much for discretion…._

Jorah sighed and talked to his squire, since Jon was paralyzed with rage. “What is it, Mason? And lower you tone.”

The red-head widened his eyes and whispered. “Tanton just said that a guy named Lanren is here to buy unsullied like you. He is a cap’n too. Me and ‘em boys think we should snatch ‘im ‘fore he get the army.”

Jon glared the ginger man so hard his eyes became red, despite the calm silken tone of his voice. “You’ll die one day, Haytham”. He said without batting an eyelash. “And nobody will miss you, not even your dad. I will dance in your grave and throw rose petals on meself while cryin’ tears of pure bliss. It’ll be beautiful...”

“Ahem.” Bracham threw in a faux I-don’t-wanna-get-involved-cough, unwilling to step between Jon and the red-head bane of his existence. However, that he must. “Anyway... It will be hard to hide yourself just assuming another name, that’s not enough.”

“No, but it helps”. He answered still glaring at Mason. “Where is the master?”

“Just ahead, to the right.”

Jon encountered the primary one responsible for the trade of Unsullied in Astapor: a small man with dark skin, broad nose and redish hair - typical ghyscari descendant – named Grazdan mo Ullhor, or so similar overly complicated name. The man explained - through his little translator girl - about the brutal training the soldiers went since they were babes, and how each unsullied had to butcher a babe in front of its mother to prove their obedience and emotional resilience.

Harsh, but that was what he called an army!

The man only spoke a bastardized ghiscari version of Valyrian, and assumed right away Jon didn’t. Dumb mistake.

“Tell him his gold only can pay for about three hundred. If he sell his ass maybe we can put more twenty in the count.” The slaver said and smirked at him. Naturally, the clever translator girls opted to give Jon a politer version of her master’s words.

Another powerful slaver master, to the right of the first, added further. “I now a guy that would pay five unsullied for someone like him to suck his cock!”.

Both masters and their cohorts crackled with laughter, to which Jon felt his anger rising up and his good sense leaving him.

Before the little girl could translate, Jon answered in Valyrian “I am worth at least twenty, thirty for a wealthy patron with an eye for beauty, and you know it. You will give me the twenty so I won’t break your jaw for the comment.”

The ghiscari slavers halt to stare at him mouth-agape, their leader’s skin blotching up to two shades darker for his anger. _If only there was a way to save images forever…_ The look on the slaver’s face was priceless.

“You will get nothing!” He roared to the lad. “Get out of m-“

He stopped when Jon pulled of his sword from the sheath. The guards from both sides riled up, Jon’s own guards nervous about what his captain would do. But the northerner merely propped the sword on the ground in a non-threatening way, gaining time to formulate what he was going to say.

“I have dragons, I will give you one.” That shut them up. The primarily slaver’s scowl twinkled with interest. “They are still small, which is good because they are trainable… But I want all the unsullied you have.”

Bracham and Lazos both protested, but Jon silenced them. He had already won his slaves - the gouged eyes of the masters told him everything he needed to know. After some deliberation, they reached an agreement.

“Eight thousand unsullied for the gold _and_ the dragon. The bigger one you possess”. The ghiscari stated.

“Eight thousand plus the ones still in training and we have a deal. When can I get them? I don’t want to wait for long or I will take my business elsewhere.”

“They will be ready in three days. It’s the faster we can do. Be here with the dragon and present yourself to the army. Unsullied must always know who is their master, or else they are not better than wild beasts.”

“All right then, I appreciate the advice. Three days”.

___________________________________________

Upon returning to the camp, Jon went to meet Urthemiel and Skyfall, who were under the care of his soldiers. The baby dragons were growing fast - they were already able to fly and make a small blaze – although they were still smaller than a mutt.

Of the two, it was hard to tell which was bigger.

**_“Who wants to help daddy with his brilliant plan?”_** He asked joyous through their bound.

****

He loved the fact he could communicate with his dragons without anyone meddling.

****

Urthemiel squealed and stood on his hind legs to wave his wings on a menacing way. So cute. ** _“Help. You.”_**

Skyfall, however, was more worried about Jorah’s tantrum. ** _“Father. Human. Men. Angry.”_**

Yeah, he knew… He could hear…

“You cannot do this!” Jorah shouted. “A dragon is invaluable, naught can pay for it! You have to go back on the deal, Jon.”

Bollocks. Jorah had to be the one to keep nagging him with unsolicited – and unnecessary - counsel. Enough was enough.

“I am the one who give the orders ‘round here. If I say it will be don’, you shut yer trap and do it!” Jorah went silent, he was used to Jon’s outbursts and knew to be quiet when it happened.

**“Burn. Humans.”** Urthemiel wish creped into his mind.

Jon scratched the dragon’s body lovingly and took a deep breath. “Look, I get us this far. Do you really think I would ever give away my dragons?” Jorah gazed at him hopeful. “They are my blood, my spirit, it won’t happen.”

“What will you do?”

“If you had gone and fetch me the lieutenants like I fuckin’ told ye instead of being on my ass, you would know already.” He complained, but not without reason. Bracham and Lazos had scurried away to do what they were told, why Jorah was still here? “Go!”

___________________________________________

There were eight thousand unsullied organized in a square large yard, near the gates. Jon’s regiment was just behind it, waiting the signal. In normal conditions five hundred man would never be allowed to stand so close to the gates – or prowling near the walls - but the right heaps of coin into the right hands could work miracles.

Unfortunately, many citizens had turned up to the event, eager for a glimpse of the dragon.

Lazos told him about the danger those people were in, but Jon shrugged in return _. Curiosity killed the cat._

He and his companions were garbed in full plate armor and heavily armed, and just behind the gate his regiment were on guard, ready for a battle. It was painfully obvious on his opinion, but thankfully the astaporis were either too stupid or too confident to doubt anything.

They walked to the front of the unsullied army, in direction to where their masters were located. His officers positioned themselves by his sides, preparing for what was to come. Jon took Urthemiel from his covered cage - his little foot trapped in a chain - and gave him to the slaver who he didn’t care to memorize the name. Urthemiel shrieked angry.

**_“Burn. Man.”_** The dragon writhed frenzied against the chain.

****

**_“Just wait a little.”_** He replied softly into his mind, trying to focus on the master’s blabbering.

And dome half-ass try it was, for he listened to nothing.

“Is it done then? They belong to me?” Jon asked, impatient to get things over with.

The slaver stared at Urthemiel marveled. Jon was very aware how these people worshipped the power the ancient valyrians had. The crowd of curious buggers also approached to get a better view of his extremely angry and murderous baby.

“It is done. They know who is their new master. You should blood them early or else they might become lazy and fat.”

“Oh, I will”. Jon replied smirking, but the man didn’t even noticed, distracted as he was by the dragon.

While the Good Masters - responsibles for the unsullied training - fussed over Urthemiel, Jon direct himself to his new army.

He stood in front of the eunuchs - above their ground at the top of the podium – and took a moment to appreciate his position. The slaves gazed at him, taking in the view of their new master, and remained still.

Eight thousand soldiers aligned in perfect rows waiting for orders… It was a glorious view. He could get used to it.

Unsullied formation, from GOT History and Lore.

“UNSUILLED! MOVE FORWARD!” All at once, in perfect synchrony the unsullied marched in unison, and stopped at his command. “HALT!”

_Yes, they are mine._ The trill of power Jon learned to love over the years rushed through his body.

He glanced over to his officers and received the tinniest nod from Jorah. Once he gave his orders, the slaughter would begin and there would be no way back. While the master struggled with Urthemiel, Jon made his move.

“UNSULLIED!” He called the slaves and watched them stomp their spears on the ground in attention. “KILL THE ASTAPORI MASTERS. KILL ANYONE WHO HOLDS A WHIP, KILL ANYONE IN A TOKAR,…”

“What is this?!” The slaver shouted startled from his behind.

The uninvited citizens who littered on the surroundings who were smart enough to get his meaning were bolting away form the plaza. But the masters – perhaps out of incredulity – remain there mouth-agape like idiots.

“… SHOW NO MERCY, BREAK ANY CHAINS YOU CAN FIND!” Jon finished, and drew his sword set for the battle.

The unsuilled readily began to jab everyone within theirs spears reach. Jon loved the wondrous show of blind obedience and efficiency. The citizens running in despair became the slaves next closer target, and they were not match for the highly-trained Unsullied. 

His officers aided him in slaying the guards that sought to end Jon’s life then turned to the nearest masters. The slaver holding Urthemiel cried to the unsullied to no avail. “Stop it! I am your master. Kill him, kill him!” He ordered desperately.

Jon turned to him and let Urthemiel fulfill his wish. **_“Dracarys, Urthemiel.”_**

The little dragon scorched the man to a charred heap, although not enough fast to spare him of the horrible pain of being burned. Jon smirked to himself, feeling his hatchling happiness for being free again.

The city garrison that had being present – sensing their disadvantage - tried to retreat to a more defensible position, but the unsullied were at their heels, spear in hand, determined to fulfill the orders of their new master. After the blow of a horn, Jon’s men stormed the gate and joined the unsuilled in the killing spree.

As the people escaped, Jon’s army followed them through the streets and alleys. The northerner himself led a fraction of the men across the middle path towards the Plaza of Pride, while Lazos and Bracham chose the right and left corners respectively. They did not have much of an objective besides submitting the city, which required a high body count.

The unsullied focused in cleaning the streets, while the sellswords barged into the buildings dragging people to the outside to face the might of the slave army. Eventually the soldiers were… ‘distracted’ by some beautiful astapori women, and Jon found himself more often than not knocking the heads of his own soldiers to get them moving.

“WHAT THE FUC—“ He started to roar, but stopped to grab the sellsword’s collar and shove him to the side. The little group of soldiers around the naked woman widen their circle to give way to their enraged captain. Jon glared them down and yelled. “You shove yer cocks back in yer breeches before I cut it out! It takes eunuchs to win this battle! SEVEN HELLS!”

“But cap’n we—“ A soldier spoke loud over the screams of the city, but Jon butted his nose with the pommel of his sword.

“Shut up and go back to work or I’ll grind you to gravel!”

“Jon!” Jorah cried out for his attention, and Jon saw arriving the same thing he wanted to avoid: Astapor’s army had managed to organize themselves in amidst the chaos and marched to face him.

Not that it was much… The city was notoriously poorly defended without the unsullied. Their better warriors consisted of mounted highborn or wealthy men garbed in light vests – more used to looking pretty than actual scuffle. Astapor always had depended on their famous eunuch soldiers and mercenaries to complement their military ranks.

_Still… What a hassle…_

__

_Spear Brigade, by Tomasz Jedruszek_

A mounted astapori charged at him blindly with his lance aimed at Jon’s heart, but the northerner warrior evaded it on the nick of time and a soldier behind him took the blow. While Jorah strove to knock out an astapori charging from his right, Jon pursued the first attacker on foot and grabbed the lance as soon the astapori tried to jab him again. Both skirmished to yank the lance to their way, but when Jon used his weight to pull the weapon the other man lost his balance and fell from his horse.

The astapori was swift and got back on his feet in no time, but without weapon he saw no alternative but to flee. As he did so, Jon threw the lance at his back like a javelin, and it pierced right throw his bowels.

_That’s why you grab cheap plate before any expensive silk in a battle._

But there was no time to retrieve the lance, for another astapori on foot made a lunge for his back to which he parried with his sword and complimented with a well-placed punch in the man’s jaw. The struck staggered the enemy just enough for Jon to whirl his blade and slash his chest, following by his face.

His own soldiers fought around him, nipping the astaporis as they focused on taking Jon down. He was the master of the unsullied – take him down and the unsullied would shift their allegiance to their former city. Therefore, both sellswords and the unsullied had to circle him in order to push the astapori away.

Jon faced battles before – a high number for someone of his age. In the first one in the village of Jader, his friend and superior – Godwin Mason, Haytham’s father – had been at his side. Jon felt fear then. As his experience amounted, fear dwindled to cautiousness, cautiousness turned into thrill, then thrill grew into blind and cold rage. 

The same feeling guided his swordhand at the moment – callous for pleads and mercy, and thoughtful for his opponent’s movements.

_I’ll fight and kill as much necessary, but I will finish what I started. Always finish what you start, no matter what._

Due to the screams and his own bloodlust, Jon was slow to notice the people shifting the source of their fear from the unsullied to the skies. But then, he realized his own army was afraid.

Jon sensed them before a roar echoed from above. He could hear more than sounds… there were thoughts…

**_“Fire…”_** Jon felt a foreign anger fill his mind, a desire to burn everything beneath. It wasn’t his own, but the other mind mixed in his as if they were one.

Just like what happened with Urthemiel and Skyfall.

Another one joined in, this one felt relief to seeing him. To finally find him. From this being, he felt happiness and hope. _**“Family.”**_

****

**_“Are you my family?”_** Jon asked them, trying to get a grip on the situation.

****

The response was immediate, along with joy and bewilderment. ** _“You. Hear. You. Talk.”_** It felt like a question merged with surprised. A third mind joined particularly pleased by the fact Jon could talk to them.

****

**_“Death. War. Enemies.”_** Although confusing and blended, all of them agreed on those sensations.

Jon looked up and saw three huge dragons descending upon the city. They opened their mouths and baited all of their surroundings in flames. On his far left, a bunch of astapori were reduced to cinders.

Urthemiel flew near him worried. Jon reached his mind as well to reassure the dragon. **_“Be calm. They are friends.”_**

Jorah caught up to him breathless. “Dragons, Jon! They are helping us! I—I think they are helping us...” The man stammered gawking at the fire-breathing behemoths.

“They are. I guess this is over.”

___________________________________________

Hours later…

Astapor was no more. Jon had a mind to spare the slaves trapped there, but dragon fire doesn’t distinguish tokars from rags and many were caught in the crossfire. Still, for the remaining, there was a whole city free to habitat.

He went alone to meet the three dragons landed in the central square. Jon knew they were waiting for him. He didn’t feel any animosity from the dragons, but that didn’t stop him from pissing himself; they were huge. By his estimative, he was the same height of a single tooth of theirs.

“Jon are you crazy?” Bracham grabbed him by the shoulder, pushing him from the path towards the dragons.

“Let me be.” He said yanking his shoulder free. “They are waiting me, godammit. You don’t refuse a dragon, get it?”

The lad kept walking until he stood in front of them, his posture proud and straight which seemed to please them for some reason.

Whichever way, Jon felt like a bug. An insignificant and tiny bug that could be squished into nothing at any moment by one of those titans, with zero effort on their part.

**_“Spirit. Fire.”_** The coal black one, way bigger than the others, scooted closer. The will within his mind was different as well: more wild and ferocious. His eyes were pure green, like wild fire trying to escape his very being, whilst the other two were golden.

That black dragon’s presence within Jon was stronger than anyone’s else. Including his little dragons.

_How peculiar._

**_“My name is Jon Snow, not Spirit of Fire.”_** He answered the black dragon, but reaching the others as well.

Another dragon angled his gigantic head to give him a better look. Although, on second thought, the motion seemed more the dragon calling him dumb. ** _“Snow. No. Cold.”_**

He turned to this sassy dragon - a light blue one, with silver wings - and explained ** _. “Snow is my name, because I am from the North of Westeros. There bastards such as me are called Snow.”_**

**_“North.”_** The dragon pointed out, not giving any weight to his explanation. He drowned Jon in sensation of reconnaissance.

_So this one has been there. Curious._

“ ** _Who are you after all?”_** He asked, not sure if he would be able to understand the answer.

The light blue dragon kept his focus on him, trying to answer. ** _“White. Arm.”_** No, that was not it. ** _“Light. Limb. Grey. Fly.”_**

****

No… no…. That’s not it as well. Both he and the dragon were frustrated, he had to try harder.

****

Jon closed his eyes and focused harder trying to reach deeper into the dragons’ minds. He put all his effort into breaking the barrier of his own mind, and completely merging with the others. Jon saw his body fall – from three different angles – and his eyes glazed in a milky shade.

The whole situation scared him, and left him uncomfortable. His body was unnatural and fractured. He tried to move an ‘arm’ and two wings wiggled – one silver, one brown. He tried again and this time three left wings wiggled, all from different dragons. He tried to focus and move only the black’s one wing, but the blurry limits between one being and another were testing his limits.

Jon had no will to control another’s body, specially a dragon’s. So he forego his attempts and focused on the dragons memories to discover who they were.

The light blue dragon helped him, showing him images of rocky plains, blue sea framing an obscure unfamiliar fortress, a silver haired woman in an elaborated gown with a crown adorning her head. Not any queen - a Targaryen queen.

The dragon hummed at the name with approval. Jon continued watching for the queen smiling to her dragon, playing with her children and waving to her people. After her, came a roughish warrior, also silver haired, but with bad manners and even worse temper. The dragon loved the queen, but not that man. Together they fought their blood, and they failed.

Jon rummaged at his own memories for his history lessons. That woman was none other than Good Queen Alysanne, who rode Silverwing - a dragon that disappeared in the Dance of Dragons. **_“Silverwing?”_** Jon asked, but he had already the answer since the dragon was in Jon’s mind as much as Jon was in his.

The brown dragon came forwards to push his own memories into the fold. The same rocky island; the Targaryens and other humans on his trail, while he avoided them. The same war of the Dance of the Dragons. A dark skinned woman, lanky and roguish, offering him mutton. ** _“You are Sheepstealer.”_** Jon concluded more to himself than the dragon.

Sheepstealer was one of the wild ones. He disappeared too, around the same time Silverwing did, along with Cannibal.

So the black coal one must be…

**_“Yes.”_** The black dragon granted him, sharing his own memories on his own free will. Cannibal hunting and eating alone, his lair littered with human bones from dragonriders wannabes, his hate of the Targaryens who pursued him. ** _“Weak. Eat. Kill. Weak.”_**

Cannibal was ancient and the biggest dragon of his time. Image by Lindsey Burcar.

Cannibal, the indomitable dragon… He was the dragon who killed and ate smaller dragons, hence the name. Jon needed to be careful; he might do the same with Urthemiel and Skyfall.

**_“Weak dragons? What do you mean by weak dragons?”_ **

**_“Targaryens”_** Silverwing clarified. **_“Blood. Strong. Once. Blood. Turn. Weak.“_**

****

**_“Did the Targaryens turned weak or did they caused the dragons to turn weak?”_** Jon asked confused.

He received positive vibes from the dragons, but could not tell to which of his questions. Considering the royal family married outside their family so many times, it was possible their blood became too diluted.

****

_But then, how to explain me?_

****

**_“You. Spirit. Fire”._** Cannibal insisted as if that explained everything. ** _“We. Wait. You. Long. Time.”_**

****

**_“Why were you waiting for me?”_ **

****

**_“Family.”_** Silverwing replied in short. Those ominous answers letting him even frustrated than no answer at all would.

****

**_“Your family, right…”_** He sighed. ** _“ I feel I must warn you that I am of the blood of the first men, from my father’s side. If I am a bit valyrian is due to my mother that I know nothing of.”_**

****

Jon felt Sheepstealer huffed as if telling him ‘stupid human’.

****

Silverwing, which he already could tell was the most patient of the three, nudged Jon a bit as if asking ‘Are you sure?’

****

**_“Yeah, I am frigging sure! I know who my family is! I am not some dumb clueless bastard.”_ **

****

_Frigging dragons acting like they know it all… Wait…_ He stopped and payed close attention to the vibration in the dragons chest. _Are they laughing?_

****

**_“Spirit. Fire. Strong. No. Smart.”_ **

****

_Cheeky fucking overgrown lizards..._ Jon pushed himself out of their minds and returned to his body, feelings his limbs return to his control once again. Albeit he rejoiced being back in his shape, for a moment his body felt too small and limited.

Jon get up on his feet lubberly, and almost ended up falling back on his ass when Silverwing tried to ‘help’ him with his snout.

****

Cannibal approached his head to Jon and sniffled him. Whatever smell he felt seemed to make him even happier ** _. “You. Spirit. Strong. Spirit. Fire. Talk. Dragons.”_**

****

Jon scoffed at that, albeit discreetly ** _._** Cannibal wanted to call him Spirit of Fire? Whatever. What big scary dragon wanted, big scary dragon got. Except one thing.

**_“You are not eating Urthemiel and Skyfall”._** He bravely bluffed, noticing how the dragons pupil opened when confronted ** _. “They are my hatchlings, my ‘spirit’, understand?”_**

****

Cannibal snorted and gave him and agreeing growl, or that is what he liked to think, and they let it be so.

Realizing the absurdity of the situation, Jon laughed at bit and shook his head **_“Do you have any idea how crazy this is? They don’t believe dragons exist anymore in Westeros. I am neck deep in all this. How the hell I will explain to my family, what do I say?”._**

****

This was too much, there were three full grown dragons in front of him, whom were ‘expecting him’. There was a talk of blood and family, which he didn’t even dare to think about.

_Oh my… What is Cannibal’s size anyway?_ He deliberated. _Maybe sixty meters. Probably more… Wow._

Silverwing pronounced with the sage wisdom off all his years **_“Truth.”_**

****

Right… Easy for him to say.

**_“Humans. Life. Short. Memory. Short.”_** Sheepstealer lamented softly.

The mud brown dragon was quiet, but thoughtful. Jon could already tell them apart by their personalities and mannerisms - just as he could do with his dragonlings - and admitted the perhaps the dragons were right: they were his long lost family.

Cannibal were approaching nearer and nearer to him during all the conversation. Whatever he wanted, he couldn’t wait anymore. He offered his wing to Jon and demanded him to climb up.

He admitted he was scared shitless, but the dragon didn’t care. It occurred to Jon that Cannibal never had a rider before, he never allowed anyone to be with him. Cannibal didn’t even give a window for the other two, he had chosen Jon for himself.

Oh, damn….This was really happening, he was about to ride a dragon. Scared, but excited at the prospect, he climbed the dragon’s wings to his back sitting between the spikes. Should not have been such a long and difficult task, but the raw bruises from the battle turned the whole act into an ordeal. He held tightly and shut his eyes whilst the dragon took flight, feeling the wind lash his face.

**_“Open. Eye. Spirit. Fire.”._** Cannibal complained beneath his growl.

Jon complied and saw the infinite blue of the skies ahead of him. They were so high that no mountain represented and obstacle in their path. Astapor was nothing but a little black dot amidst the plains of sands. From this height everything beneath was exactly that: nothing.

**_“I don’t know about you, Cannibal, but I feel like I could conquer the world.”_ **

****


	22. Jorah Mormont - It's harder and harder... / No-Pov - Ruler of the Ashes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Camp night' here: https://br.pinterest.com/pin/439663982375334002/  
> 'Grey Worm' here: https://br.pinterest.com/pin/17521886037021415/

#### JORAH MORMONT – It is harder and harder to be a skeptic.

Astapor - 302 AL.

Jon landing on an enormous dragon before the men made an impression. The beast was everything Jorah expected from the stories of Aegon’s conquest: black coal scales, jaws that could swallow a carriage, body at least seventy meters of length. He saw the destruction the dragon’s fire caused in the city - people were incinerated instantly, buildings collapsed and melted like wax.

_If Jon control these dragons, he is the most powerful man in the world. No army can possibly defeat such power._

The other two dragons were flying in the sky nearby. One with a light blue body and pale wings, almost silver. The other a mud brown, with golden streaks. The men were marveled by the sight out of legends, even the stoic unsullied showed some emotion upon the vision of their commander on top of the dragon. There was a general understanding that they were, from now on, part of the mightiest force in the world.

He himself was unsettled by the prospect: if Jon accumulated so much winnings, glory and gold before, with the dragons he would stop at nothing, and Essos would became a bloodbath. He was not blind to his captain many flaws; Snow could be cold and cruel. He had too much ambition and bendable morals. Even so, he was sent to the world by the gods for a greater purpose, there was no other explanation for everything that was happening. First he hatched two dragons, and now gathered tree full grown ones.

Jorah was a skeptical man once, but not any longer.

The captain spent a long time walking around the camp, laughing with his men and doing his best to satisfy their curiosity. Jorah followed him, since Bracham and Lazos were busy dealing with the unsullied and the spoils from Astapor. He got to hand to the young man, he was not very patient, but was doing well replying so many repeated queries over and over again.

To his back, heavy armored soldiers with the Golden Company plates whispered their hopes for the future.

“Dragons, Trevor. Huge dragons and he can command them. The captain is going to make us back to Westeros.”

“We are already fairly richer with Astapor spoils. They are giving us a great share; I can buy my mother a house. Maybe even an hour with the Black Pearl of Bravos*.” The other giggled.

“Don’t you see how amazing this is? More dragons. The captain in magical, the red star of R’hllor graced him that night.”

“Graced him to fill our purses that‘s right!.” The man mocked and his friend snarled, so he changed his tune. “There is something off about him, but I don’t follow R’hllor like you. I heard he is descendant of a Valyrian family of dragonlords who fleed to Volan-”

They shut up upon seeing Jorah, but he didn’t mind the gossip. From now on, Jon would be the subject to a huge amount of them.

That night Jon disappeared without warning nobody, an infortune habit of his. This time he was more likely fraternizing with the dragons, the creatures who he could ‘talk’ with. Free from any obligation, Jorah reunited to discuss the day’s events with the other two Jon’s second hands, veterans of the Golden Company, in the captain’s pavilion.

Camp night, by Klaus Pillon.

“Fucking huge dragons, gods be damn, hahahahah!” Bracham patted his own knee and filled his tankard once again. “When is he going to stop to fuck with us?”

“Cannibal, Sheepstealer and Silverwing”. Jorah elucidated for them. “Jon said they came looking for him.”

“How many full grown dragons there are roaming around in the world, and we don’t even know?” Lazos mused, also pouring himself another round.

“I don’t think there are others. These dragons are really old - they lived in Westeros in an island called Dragonstone.” He explained. “Cannibal and Sheepstealer were the wild dragons, the black one was never ridden by anyone as far history tell. Silverwing belonged to the Targaryens.”

“Targaryens? Not sure who they are.” The bearded man groaned glaring his empty bottle.

Not surprising. It was unlikely someone like Bracham cared for foreign politics.

Jorah went on to explain. “They are the ruling family of Westeros. Their ancestor conquered the continent three hundred years ago; one dragonlord descendant of Valyria. There had been no more dragons in Westeros for one hundred years, but when the Targaryen still had ‘em Silverwing was among the great ones. Then a fight happened inside the family, and most of the dragons died. Only those three were accounted as missing. Tis’ all Jon told me.”

“They are like those pricks inside the black of Volantis then…” Bracham mumbled more to himself than to Jorah.

The Targaryens had the same love for their lineage than the volantine nobles, but Jorah didn’t know much more else about them. He was from the North, and the north traditionally do not take interest in southerners affairs. If not for his education on history for being a noble, he would barely recognize the names of the southern houses.

“I don’t think anythin’ can impress me anymore.” Lazos mentioned at Jorah’s side, worn from the day’s events. “Next thing he will start to pull gold out of his ass, wait and see.”

The man rose and walked to the side of the room to fetch the little dark blue dragon, crying for attention. He then returned to his side with the dragonling on his lap.

Without nothing to add further to the subject, Jorah informed Bracham and Lazos of their captain plans. “He wants to leave Astapor as soon as possible”.

“Where to now?” Bracham asked and continued to complain. “We barely arrived here, we didn’t even had time to get a good night’s shit.”

“Don’t you mean sleep?” Jorah asked.

“No, I mean shit.”

The northerner wasn’t sure about what to say to that, but Lazos spared him of the conflict. “We came here for a reason; get an army to go after Strickland.” The man remembered. “We are going with an army and five dragons instead…”.

The implication felt heavy for the tree of them.

“We are going to wait him in Volantis. The general-captain keeps residence there.” Jorah said what he heard Jon mention earlier.

Bracham stomped his feet and shouted in his animation “Fuck Strickland! The captain is a dragonlord for fuck’s sake. We can just conquer all Volantis, or any anywhere for that matter.” 

Jorah and Lazos looked to each other uncomfortably. That was the big question, did they really want to wage war that would destroy so many cities?

“What was this thing I heard about conquering Volantis?” Jon just entered the pavilion covered in sooth and mud. He looked amused at them, like a man who just had caught his children on the act.

“Well captain, since you got yourself some ancient huge god-like dragons, we can just invade any city, until find that fucker and burn his back raw.” Bracham explained to Jon excited. “Volantis is as good as any to start.”

Jon took a seat beside Lazos and stroked the little dragon pensive. He seemed almost desolated. “I could do it, couldn’t I? Not so sure I want it though... Invade Volantis…”

“What ye mean?! We can do it, and it will be easy. ‘Twere the unsullied, the Company, the dragons... Eight thousand and five hundred men and three fuckin’ dragons, and you’re not sure?” Bracham yelled, stood up and threw his arm up in outrage.

Jorah could see he already drank too much for the night.

The captain hardened his face at the outburst. “That is what I said, innit?” He gesticulated for Bracham to sit up again and continued. “We’re goin’ to Volantis and wait for Harry there. Maybe, if we are lucky, he’ll be in his home. I’ll kill ‘im and his whole army if I have to. But I don’t know if I want to attack the city per se. Actually… I don’t know what to do after.”

In times like these, Jorah remembered Jon was only eighteen years old. A man already, but too young for all that was happening. In truth, he didn’t know what to do after too, and by the others faces, neither did them. Regular scenario they would just go back to mercenary life, but the dragons changed everything. Still he was surprised by the young man’s uncertainty, he was sure Jon would just jump down at the chance to wage wars as fast as he could.

“We’ll think of somethin’, better not focus on this for now.” Lazos suggested, nearly in a fatherly way. “We have to get to Volantis first, how do we proceed?”

Jon cheered up, he was back in his usual self. “Yes! I just came back from a flight with the dragons and we came up with an idea.” Even hearing Jon talking about his ‘conversations’ with the dragons disturbed Jorah. “We get the army by boat to Tolos, in the other side of the Slaver’s Bay. From there we better just march to Volantis. It’s the fastest way; we reach the city in three months tops.”

“Do we even have boats for this?” Jorah asked.

“You didn’t pay attention to the harbor did you?” He hadn’t. “Astapor have lots of boats, Jorah, they are merchants, man. There are not enough, true, but in two trips we can transport everyone.”

“If we had enough ships,” Lazos observed. “we could sail through the Golf of Grief, contour Valyria and reach Volantis in two weeks. Three if we count the time it would take to prepare everythin’.”

“And we’ll need less provisions this way.” Jorah complemented. Jon was very interested in the idea, which was good. “I am not sure if what we have now it’s enough for a three-month campaign, never had been in an army this size.”

The young man reflected a while, then granted. “Okay, I see your point. You’re right”. He fetched a map of Slaver’s Bay in the chest, the same they used to travel to the city, and opened on the floor by their side. “Any ideas of how to get the ships?”.

Jorah pointed to the closest city, north of Astapor. “Here, in Yunkai.” He clarified. “They export slaves as well, primarily bed slaves. Buy them from khals usually, train and then sell to the free cities. I am certain there are many ships in its harbor.”

“We march to the yellow city then?” Bracham prompted enthusiastic. “We are not going to _ask_ them for the ships right?”.

Jon smiled, entertained by his bloodthirsty officer. “Why…Of course we are going to ask them very nicely. I’ve been blessed with long eyelashes to bat, just ask the Good Masters.” He joked sarcastically, batting his eyelashes. “The dragons will breach their walls and destroy their battlements before they even realize what is going on, we take two thousand unsullied only and get into the city. Then, I will beg pretty please for the ships or kill all the good masters again.”

“Wise masters.” Lazos corrected, and then proceeded to explain to the confused captain. “Astapor is… _was_ ruled by the good masters, but Yunkai slavers call themselves wise masters.”

“It will not be the same as Astapor”. Jorah warned them. “Yunkai is better prepared, better armed, bigger as well”.

“So are we, Jorah. It will be piece of cake.”

“Jon, there is the matter with the unsullied.” Lazos cut in “I don’t know how to deal with them. They obey without questioning, but at the same time don’t take any initiative, it’s annoying as fuck.”

“They are slaves, that’s the only way they know how to act.” Jorah said, daring to direct a chastising look at Jon. He didn’t approve the idea of owning slaves from the start.

Jon pointed his finger at his direction and stated through gritted teeth. “That’s right Jorah, they are my slaves. And you better get used to it fast.”

As swiftly as he got angry, he cold down again, and turned to advise Lazos. “Let one of them deal with it if you can’t. Make the unsullied chose for a leader among them. With time they will loosen up, and will begin to take more initiative.”  
  


“If they loosen up too much they might escape.” Lazos prompted.

“To where?”. Jon replied mocking. “They’ve no families, no past, no perspectives. They don’t even have cocks, for gods’ sake. Also, they are conditioned for too long to just ‘want to escape’. But that’s fine, soon they will realize I am the best thing that ever happened to ‘em.”

After so many years living in Essos, Jorah still haven’t learnt to accept slavery. For him, a man’s freedom was his greatest asset, which is simply without a price.

The lad, on the other hand, adapted to the society rather quickly for a northerner, and embraced slavery with it. He even hired bed-slaves for the soldiers eventually, with the purpose to cheer them up.

It was true, at least, that he would not be an abusive master. Well… Not _too_ abusive.

“They don’t have names either, talking to anyone is a bore.” Bracham remembered placid, already feeling the effects of his alcohol abuse.

“Really? No names?” Jon was surprised, even if they were told before by the slavers about the it. “Order them to choose a name for themselves then. What’s the point of keepin’ them nameless anyway?.”

“And cockless! Hehehehe…” Bracham was almost falling for his chair.

“Its best we put that one to the bed.” Jorah said glancing at the mess of a man. “If not, he will start to sing soon.”

“Ohh, leave him, he can sleep here, there are some mattresses lying ‘round”. Jon dismissed, used to Bracham ways. Then he offered, fetching his harp. “How about I sing somethin’ in his place?”

They quickly agree, having few chances in their mercenary life for music. “Something cheerful, like that ‘Maiden and Bear’ you have in your country”.

Lazos was referring to ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair’, which Jon translated to them, and soon became one of the soldiers favorite. Jorah just lounged back and enjoyed the rest of the night with songs from his land. He had a long week ahead.

___________________________________________

Two days later, Jorah accompanied the unsullied chosen by the other as its leader. The aloof man remained silent all the way to Jon’s presence, and even then it was hard to get a phrase out of him.

“The new leader then? Congratulations on the promotion, fella!” Jon tried to jape, but the eunuch was expressionless as a door. Baffle by the lack of any reaction, the lad continued uncomfortable “Ahem, well, did you pick a name?”

Grey Worm, by R-Valle.

“Grey Worm”. Came the immediate response.

Jon just stared at him eyes wide. Then said “Really? Grey Worm. That’s the name you want? You can pick any in the land, but you want ‘Grey Worm’?”.

“Yes.”

“Look, you can chose Wallace, Connor, Eldrik…. I could make a list. Quimby, how about Quimby?”

“Grey Worm.” The soldier insisted placid.

Jon took a deep breath and continued. “Dude, that is a very shitty name. Take my word for it, you don’t want to be called Grey Worm.”

“Worm Grey.” The eunuch answered instead.

Jon narrowed his eyes, while the soldier at his side clamped his mouth to disguise the smile.

Tired with Jon’s insistence, the eunuch decided to explain. “Masters give us new names everyday. Grey Worm was the name the day the dragonlord master came to Astapor and killed the masters. I want this name, it brings good fortune.”

It was not such a bad name, considering the others Jorah heard; Yellow Silk, Rainbow and Long Spear came to mind. In retrospect, letting the unsullied pick their own names was a bad idea.

Jon finally gave up annoyed. “Fine! Be Grey Worm then! As long as you don’t care, you can have whatever stupid name you want”. Jon then pointed at Jorah. “This is Jorah Mormont, but you already met him, he will train you in the ways of command.” The captain presented him, and the eunuch gave a small nod.

Jon continued. “Soon you will meet Bracham and Lazos too, they are my most trusted and have been with me since the start. Lachlan, our master of arms, Arrel, our healer, Camren, the quartermaster… There are also the dragons Urthemiel and Skyfall, the little ones and Cannibal, Silverwing and Sheepstealer, the big ones. You will meet them soon too, but from afar. And I, if you don’t know already, am Fay Lanren, one of the captains of the Golden Company.”

He insisted on calling himself Fay Lanren upon arriving in Astapor. Jorah agreed that a new name would keep them safe from Strickland’s informants, but he suspected other reasons for Jon to hide himself. Said reasons residing in Westeros.

“Jorah,” Jon caught his attention. “Find Bracham and help him, please? I don’t trust his dumb ass with the maps I gave him. I will show Grey Worm here the ropes.” The lad said circling one arm in Grey Worm’s shoulder.

“Right away captain.” He walked away and went to find his fellow officer.

* * *

#### NO-POV – Ruler of the ashes.

Astapor - 302 AL, four days later.

The new formed council, freeman, slaves and ex-slaves alike reunited in the Plaza of Pride yelling their bids as if the louder voice could be the winner. Some slaves demanded freedom and penalties for their alive owners, said owners wanted their slaves punished for the audacity, ex-slaves wanted rights and housing, and rich freeman thought they were entitled the positions of the former Good Masters.

Grazdan mo Ullhor had just been killed, burned by dragonfire in the center of the plaza, and with him the majority of the Good Masters were put by the sword by the orders of the dragonrider. Without their leaders, the few remaining free man of any renown in the city summoned a great council with the people trying to establish any new sense of order they could get.

“PEOPLE, PEOPLE, PLEASE ORDER!” Ignin je Quaa yelled and shook his arms begging for some form of organization.

He was one of the most successful blacksmiths of Astapor, and one of the three members of the council formed by Jorah the Andal. The other two were Ardeiq na Quaquak, a healer and herbalist, and Zizel, a greying former slave scribe that used to administrate the business for his master.

Their primarily objective was to organize and command Astapor into aiding the mercenaries with their quest to Yunkai, but the overall chaos was not easy to manage. The few control they had was heavily associate with the presence of the dragons. Gods only know what would happen when they left.

“I demand these dogs to return to their work!” A master yelled pointing to some slaves at the back of the crowd. “Who the hell they think they are! I demand soldiers to lash their hides away!” He roared, to which slaves answered by demanding his death in the Plaza of Punishment. No one knew who had the city anymore: masters or slaves.

“The new ruling council should be formed by traders! Masters are all but gone, and the future of the harpy in within our hands!” An influential freeman of the fabric trade demanded amidst cheers of his colleagues.

“This is madness! We followed the ways of Old Ghis for thousands of years! We cannot let everything go to rot, it will be our demise.” Another freeman yelled, and the slaves hissed. They were the most interest in a change of their ways.

Some more bold gents required for action against the mercenaries and the reinstitution of the unsullied as slaves of Astapor. But those demands were quickly put down by the majority of the fearful citizens. The mercenaries were too powerful, and the dragonrider too much of a menace to try anything. They suffered enough deaths already.

And not all disliked the dragonrider. In fact, most of the slaves sang praises for him, and were the first to defend the mercenaries against any incoming threats of the freeman or masters.

A loud roar thundered in the skies and all voices died. At that moment a big black dragon flew above the plaza, close enough they could see the figure of the dragonrider on its back, gazing down upon them. They cowered and waited for the dragon to move away, even the slaves who loved their precious liberator were afraid to cause any reason for his dislike. One word was all it took for him to kill everyone in a whim.

If that is how the old ghiscari felt at the presence of the valyrians, all the more respect for their bravery when facing them in war.

When the dragon was gone, old Zizel took advantage of the silence, rose up and began to speak in his soft voice. “History taught us that we can and must change to evolve. In the wars against Meeren, Astapor make friends with it’s enemies in Yunkai and prevailed. When the Valyrians razed the free cities and nearly destroyed trade, Astapor created the trade unsullied and prevailed! Now once again we face dare circumstances that forces us to change. We must open our minds and work together, friend and foe, to succeed.” He pleaded to masters and slaves alike with no results. The former were unwilling to hear what someone like him, and old learned slave, had to say. And the later preferred action to politics.

And so the yelling returned.

“This is going nowhere.” Ardeik mumbled in his place. The old healer knew that there would be no agreements between both parts. Once the mercenaries were gone, the yelling would turn to scythes and daggers. That was the way of Astapor.

A sudden commotion claimed their attentions at the bottom of the plaza. Cleon, the strongest butcher in Astapor and once a slave for the recently deceased Grazdan mo Ullhor, walked in surrounded by his new acquired lackeys. He himself carried a big bloodied cleave, while the others get by with daggers, canes and stolen swords. They walked slowly, watching the crowd, while Cleon strolled ahead of his group smirking with a new found sense of superiority.

The crowd was silent once again, and opening way for him. The masters joined further away as possible, glaring the butcher with contempt. “So what are we talking about this time? Peace?” Cleon asked mockingly, aiming his gaze to the people and the council. “Working together, Zizel? Like you worked with your master? How many times did you suck his cock while he patted you in head, can you count?”

Subtle whispers emerged, and Zizel paled in shame. Besides being a scribble, he was also a eunuch, and praised to be remarkable beautiful in his youth. The type of slave chosen by masters who appreciated beautiful men inside their homes: easy and accessible.

Some things needn’t be said.

“You were invited to speak in due time, Cleon.” Ignin je Quaa cut in, he was not about to be intimidated by a butcher. “You were advised already to not step out of line.” He said, referring to the threats of violence Cleon had made against the mercenaries.

“Hide behind the foreigners while you can!” Cleon retorted. “Once they finish sacking this city and go away, it will be only us left! The unsullied are no more, and the masters are not more! Or they will be…” He threatened, lifting his cleave in the direction of the remaining masters in the plaza.

“The rest of you, beware!” He said directly to the slaves. “You will going to have to pick a side. Pick arms and fight, or let them cut your cocks and make more unsullied out of ya!”

The masters remained quiet, but their uneasiness was clear. There was no going back, and the slaves would either follow the dragonrider in his journey, or remain in Astapor and endorsed the ways of violence behind men like Cleon. Ignin wondered if they would be able to tell the difference between simple freemen folk like him and masters.

He doubted it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *What in hell was I thinking when opted POV’s to write this thang?! POV’s are horrible, but I guess there was no way back. However, nothing will stop me from writing some charpters without POV’s.  
> *Bellegere Otherys, the Black Pearl, is a famous and powerful courtesan in Bravos. She hails from a line of courtesans, all called Black Pearl, and they descend from Aegon IV Targaryen and the original Black Pearl, also called Bellegere, captain of the Widow Wind and occasional pirate. The first Bellegere was the daughter of a Sealord of Bravos and a Summer Islander princess, and she was ‘as black as a pot of ink’, hence the moniker. Why in hell she decided to be mistress of the Unworthy is beyond me….


	23. Grey Worm - Masters should die. / Jon - Shadowbinders like to...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Yunkai' here: https://br.pinterest.com/pin/825847650416049251/  
> 'An easy victory' here: https://br.pinterest.com/pin/825847650416049008/  
> 'Yunkai people' here: https://br.pinterest.com/pin/279082508138979450/  
> "Shadowbinder' here: https://br.pinterest.com/pin/652459064756704021/

#### GREY WORM – Masters should die.

Yunkai - 302 AL, two weeks later.

Yunkai, the Yellow City. Artist: Jonas de Ro.

He had led the other unsullied through the streets of Yunkai, his mind focused in a single goal: slay any resistance. Just like Astapor, Yunkai ended flooded with blood and cinders; the dragons flying above and the people running below, fleeing for their lives, even the yunkai soldiers that should be fighting against them lay down their arms in defeat. The fear, however, was overwhelming.

His master only took seconds to make a breach in the walls of the city; the dragon fire blasted it to the ground and they invaded. No questions asked, no warning. The dragon lord ordered them to take the city as soon they got off the ships. Jorah, the Andal, pledged to try to talk with the Wise Masters, to convince them to hand over the ships without bloodshed, but his maester wanted nothing of it.

Grey Worm approved the invasion, since he wanted to kill the masters of Yunkai too. Nevertheless, had his master tried to parley, he could have found a way to spare the slaves soldiers and common folk of the bloodbath. They were not the targets, but in the midst of the battle it was hard to differentiate his prey. For the dragons was even harder.

It didn’t matter, because his master didn’t care. _He only cares about armies and money._ Grey Worm mused cross.

Many unsullied liked the dragon lord because he didn’t resorted to violent punishments, nor tortured them for amusement, and provided them with good meals identical to the rest of the freemen in the army. He even gave money to them - called it an ‘anticipated payment’, whatever it was - and said they ‘better make his money worth’. 

Grey Worm just found him hollow and frivolous, with no regard for nothing or no one. Still, he was grateful.

The battle began in the morning and ended in the afternoon. Just as the mercenaries predicted, it had been embarrassedly quick and easy. The city was his master’s and the majority of its soldiers and leaders were dead. As they walked by, slaves and poor free folk gazed them wondering about their future. Grey Worm would like to offer some comforting perspective, but he knew no more than they did.

“He wants us beneath the yellow pyramid.” The master’s lieutenant Lazos warned him, ‘he’ being his master.

Grey Worm said nothing, only eyed him curious. Yunkai was full of pyramids of all sizes, and every single one of them was yellow.

“Oh, yeah, right. Everything is yellow in the Yellow City”. He pointed ahead, in order to inform him. “That big pyramid in the center, Qarraz or Qagzaz, whatever.”

Grey Worm was a person of few words, just how any good unsullied should be. Lazos, on the other hand, had no problem filling the silence with his incessant chatter on their way to the great pyramid. His bigger concern – or regret – was the afflicted with burn wounds from the dragon’s fire who dwelt in the makeshift infirmaries sprawled on the large roads, along with the crippled resulted from the collapsed buildings.

There was no combating enemy in the infirmaries though. Those, lucky to escape the battle alive, had been executed soon after.

The wounded were not near as much as Astapor, since the master didn’t use the dragons directly at the people, but they too much for the older man’s conscience.

“In a battle…” Lazos mentioned tormented. “In a battle a man can defend himself and his family. He may be outnumbered or without any training, still he can pick a weapon and fight. But this… Dragon fire is another thing…”

“Soldiers are wounded in battles. Unsullied are wounded and keep fighting. You are a soldier.” He tried to reason with the lieutenant, who was also his assigned mentor in commandership. Although both spoke bastard versions of High Valyrian, Grey Worm strove to emulated their speech rather than keep his own.

“That I am, for all my life. And when I die, I want to look at the man who kills me in the eye, I want him to be the one to best me. You can’t look a dragon in the eye as it breathes fire from the sky…” The older man sighed heavily. “I don’t know anymore… Everything is changed…”

_It was an easy victory. He should be happy_. The eunuch thought to himself.

An easy victory. Artist:??

Grey Worm found it hard to relate with the man’s anguish; death was death. The ones caused by a sword, a spear or by dragonfire were the good kind. Starvation, torture and the crucifixion that the masters of Slaver’s Bay were so fond of: those were the truly ghastly style.

Growing up he saw boys dying everyday; some of them his friends. His own brother became sick after the castration and abandoned in a corner to die - he suffered for days. Grey Worm could not even remember his face.

They found his master in front of the said pyramid entertained with the smaller dragons. The creatures were the size of dogs, but capable of roasting an entire horse with the power of their flames. That explained the looks of pure fear of the twenty masters of Yunkai tied in front of them, waiting for Jon’s decision.

“How are the wounded?” Jon asked admiring the pyramid. His hand stroked the blue dragon’s head tenderly, while the beast purred content.

Lazos approached without fear, but Grey Worm preferred to keep his distance of them. “There are too many Jon… We are building some infirmaries to treat the wounded, but it’s difficult. Burn wounds are horrible, but thankfully they are few.”

“I didn’t use the dragons directly, fire it’s useful, but impossible to contain. The men must have got carried away and took stupid decisions, hence the wounded. ”

“These unsullied don’t get ‘carried away’. They did exactly what they were told.” Lazos complained. “The buildings collapsing, the fire and mayhem… People get caught, not matter how careful you are.”

Jon was confused. “Wait… Are you talking about the people here?”

“You asked about the wounded.” The lieutenant replied simply.

“ _Our_ wounded.” Jon clarified, as if that was obvious. “Our soldiers. I asked about them. But if you want to help the yunkaii whatever… Just do it fast and do not waste my resources.”

“It’s not what I want, it’s what we must do. We owe it to them, after all this destruction. Look around you, this city is now ruined.”

Bracham, whom Grey Worm also learned to dislike, grinned sarcastically. “I say they got what was coming for them. Relying in those dothraki savages for protection, or these slave soldiers who are worth less than their swords will get you this.” Bracham gestured around. “It’s in way better shape than Astapor; you did not complain back there, my friend.”

“Astapor was different, nobody anticipated the dragons”. Lazos countered. “This could had been done in a different way.”

“Gods, you sound like Jorah.” Jon interjected angry. “Look, this city was ruined way before we came here alright? Rotten from within. Try to see this as a chance for the remaining to build something new, something better in it’s place.” His master place both hands in the older man’s shoulders tenderly. “We gave them this chance.”

Grey Worm had serious doubts if there was really a noble goal in invading Yunkai, like his master was suggesting to comfort his lieutenant.

They were here for the ships.

“It’s a bloody transition, Jon.” Lazos shook his head tormented. “I believe they will build something new, but not better.”

“That is their problem, Lazos, we have done enough.” Feeling he had won the argument, Jon turned to the tied masters and rephrased. “Actually, there are still problems to solve. Twenty of them to be exact. These, my friends, are some of the most powerful men and women in Yunkai. They were captured while trying to flee. What do we do with them?”

Most of the masters poised a blank face aimed at the floor, a few glared Jon with hate. Due to the rich fabric of their tokar – although dirty and bloodied – it was obvious that they were very rich people, and probably slavers.

“Let’s just kill them and be done with this.” Bracham spat. “Your dragons need food. Better give these useless sacks of meat to them and keep the livestock to our soldiers.”

It was gruesome, but it was an idea. The master’s dragons needed lots of horses and sheep everyday.

“For gods’ sake man, this is monstrous! They lost, it’s over, just let them go Jon.” Lazos protested.

His master was silent for a while, not sure of what to do or to who listen. “Monstrous…” His master muttered, then Jon turned to him and asked. “What do you think, Grey Worm? Kill them or let them go?”

“I… I am not sure master. It’s not my place to question your decision.” The eunuch replied uncomfortable.

“My decision it’s your decision. I want you to tell me.”

The question caught him by surprise. As a slave his judgment or decisions was no important, someone else was always there to make it for him. As the leader of the unsullied he was bound to make decisions eventually, but nothing like this.

_I don’t want to do this…_

“Master, I…” He looked their faces, and saw the trail of a tear smearing one of the women’s face. “I was never trained for it.”

Jon read his uncertainty. “You are being trained right now. These are twenty of the most powerful Wise Masters of Yunkai. What do you know about them?”

Grey Worm was not trained to think, and didn’t receive much information of the world outside the training field. Yet, he had eyes and ears, and answered honestly. “They buy slaves from the khalasars, train them and sell. Not unsullied, but other types of slaves.”

Jon pointed to a group of little girls watching from afar. “See those girls right over there? They were with this woman in yellow in front of you when they were brought to me. They are being trained to be bed slaves, is that right, Bracham?”

The lieutenant nodded. “Yes, Payton found them. Told me the woman tried to buy him with one of those girls.”

“Delightful”. Jon sneered. “Let’s hear what she has to say.” He pull the gag out of the old woman’s mouth, who immediately tried to plead for her life.

“Please, please let me go. I won’t cause problems… Please, have mercy….” Her tears fell freely, but Jon did not waivered.

“Say that to him,” He nodded to Grey Worm, followed by the woman’s teary gaze. “consider this is…hmm… a trial. Tell him why he should spare you.”

The woman swallowed nervous, her jittery gaze bounced between all the present studying them despite her terror, then she answered. “I--I am Daroqa Gha--Ghazke, daughter of Herdihr na Ghazke, Lady of the Dancers of the H-House of the Blessed S-Song”. She spoke stuttering. “My fa--family lived in Yunkai for many centuries, I-I ha--have powerful relatives in other cities, and so has my husband. I can give you money-“

“Did you offered the girls to the soldier?” Grey Worm interrupted her, feeling the anger build in his core. His master seemed surprised by his initiative.

“I was trying to get out of the city! You were attacking killing everyone with those beats… You can’t blame me for trying to escape!”

Lazos sneered. “He is referring to the girls, woman, not the escape.”

The oldest slave girl should not be older than six summers. Despite her position, she seemed frightened for her master. All of the five girls were.

The lady of the dancers glanced around confused before answering. “Of course! Of course, you are right! I should have offered them to you instead, not a mere soldier. Please forgive me, good sir.” She clearly did not understood his meaning. “You can have them, all of them. I have dozens of beautiful girls being trained in the way of the seven sighs and the sixteen seats of pleasure. They are the best in Yunkai.”

“Really?” Bracham prompted in delight. “I heard of the House of the Blessed Song. They said triarch Vogarro bought his whore from it, and the cunt was so good that he married her hahaha.”

His master smirked along.

“That is not important.” Grey Worm cut in annoyed. “Those are children.”

“They are too young.” She agreed. “I wanted to protect them… Don’t hurt them, please.”

“You just offered them seconds ago! Now you ask not to hurt them!” Lazos yelled exasperated.

Grey Worm tried to understand her reasoning, but he was getting more confused with each minute. Despite her offer, the woman did sound sincere with her plead to not hurt the girls. His anterior masters did care for his well-being, in a way his price would not drop. But that couldn’t be her logic.

_Why does she care about them?_

_Better yet: why would she not?_

_Why did the dragonlord ask for my opinion?_

This world – outside of Astapor, of his barracks – was too complicated.

“You were protecting them, weren’t you?” His master said after a long silence. “That’s why you were dragging them along, to save them. But doing it slowed you down and you got captured. ”

“I-- I know it is not wise to get attached to the girls, but sometimes I can’t help it. Those five are the closest to me. I didn’t want them raped by your thugs.” A slight tone of hate wormed into her voice and gaze, aside the tears.

“Protect them now, sell them later.” Lazos sneered. The old man had a soft spot for children.

“They are slaves! That is what they are for! Naturally I would have to sell them. I don’t… I don’t understand what you want from me! Please, just let me go, I beg of you! Please, just te--” She sobbed and pleaded once more, while his master put the gag back in her mouth.

“There is nineteen more for you to listen if you want to”. The dragonlord told him. “Or you can save us some time and pass judgment now.”

“She… did she tried to protect her slaves?” He tried to clarify confused.

“Aye, I learned earlier that all of her pillow slaves are well feed and taken care off. No beatings, punishments, nothing. That is why I choose her for you to listen. She continues her family trade, just like many other masters of Yunkai. Tough choice… ”

“Jon, let it go.” Lazos intervened, taking pity of the old woman – or maybe of Grey Worm. “These people are slavers, but half of Essos is. You yourself are! It’s only twenty of them, they are no treat.”

“I don’t care if they have slaves or not, this is not about it! Besides, you heard the woman, they have powerful connections. That means they could offer some treat”. He waved his hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter; I want Grey Worm to decide for us.”

“Master, we of the unsullied follow the lead of the dragonlo-“

“No! They follow your lead. They chose you, not me. I may be their master by force, but you are their elected leader. So make a choice,” There was bitterness in his voice. “ _lead_.”

The strange pale eyes of his master searched his own, and Grey Worm knew there was no way out. One side of he wanted all the masters dead – maybe even his own master - , another wondered if the slavers truly deserved death.

“I…” He swallowed hard, wondering if his master was testing him, if he would make the right choice. “They should be killed… master.”

“Finally!” Shouted Bracham, whilst Lazos shook his head. Overall the soldiers near them seemed to agree with his decision, delighted at the chance to submit Yunkai further. Clamors of “Kill them!” and “Fire!” filled the void. The masters on the floor, however…

The eunuch steeled himself.

“As _you_ wish.” Said Jon, then turned to his little dragons and pronounced a single word. “Dracarys.”

Haunting cries and wails of pain blended with the cheering of the sellswords, and the air filled with the stench of roasted human flesh. Grey Worm was a soldier. He was used to killing and death. It should have been easy to watch these masters burn.

But it wasn’t. He killed many before, but always due to the orders of others. He was just a weapon, deprived of will or responsibility, executing someone else’s wishes. This deaths however, for the first time, were his choice alone. He could have avoided those screams of pain if he wanted.

The little girls cried for their master. Most likely their only source of protection and care.

_Is this what freedom feels like?_

“I think it’s for the best.” Lazos was by his side again, watching the corpses burn. “Slavery is almost everywhere in Essos, I found it hard to believe everyone deserves death for it. Me own family has slaves - bunch of layabouts not worth their food - although in Norvos they are way fewer than Slaver’s Bay.”

“Did I make the right choice?” Grey Worm asked tormented, letting his stoic mask slip for once.

Lazos was surprised for the eunuch’s affliction, more used to his stoicism. “Oh lad. ‘Twas only wrong choices here. This is the world we live in. I advise you to get used to it, Jon – or Fay, or whatever the fuck ye wanna call ‘im - will make you one of his captains if everything goes accordin’ to plan. Then choices like this will become routine for you. For whatever it’s worth… I think you passed with flyin’ colors.”

Grey Worm stared dumbfounded, trying to clasp his meaning.

Lazos offered a side smirk, aware of his doubt. “The trial.” He clarified.

“I… I do not understand.” He glanced back and forth to the man and the charred remains of the masters. “The master said it was their trial…”

Lazos chuckled. “Oh no, no. Jon doesn’t care enough for these people to offer them trials, or for slavery… It was _your_ trial. I just wished he hadn’t put you against the wall like that, it was a tough choice.”

Grey Worm felt the anger building up in his core. To go through all this torment and anguish over a test, to be not only used in body but also in mind. 

“Unsullied don’t make choices. We obey.” He said disguising his feelings. Anger was never good in a slave.

“I don’t think Jon really understands what a slave is. He is from Westeros, you see? It’s different there. Jorah is too.”

“The master is leaving.” Grey Worm noticed Jon storming away with Bracham, the soldiers around them scattering away for their duties. “What do we do?”

“You can gather your unsullied and bring down all those bloody harpies’ statues of the city. Woman torso, bat wings, eagle legs and scorpion tale… Damn city should have stuck with one animal for its emblem.” He playfully slapped Grey Worm’s arm. “Find me later at night, we can drink and talk gibberish about the world we live in. We can even explore this city a bit more before leavin’.”

Drink and waste conversation was not wise for an unsullied. Despite it, the eunuch replied. “Yes. I will.”

Yunkai people(ancient mesopothamia vibe). Artist:????

* * *

#### JON – Shadowbinders like to mess with our heads.

Yunkai - 302 AL, one week later.

He stared the statue of the sphinx for some time before heading to his quarters. In less than a week they would be out of Yunkai, on their way back to Astapor and then to Volantis. For now Jon would enjoy some time amidst the luxury of the city Pyramids, a place reserved for its rulers; most dead thanks to him.

_It was worth it though; more than a hundred ships, plus de sack of the city…_ He mused distracted.

People courteously bow as he passed, too afraid to try and make conversation. Jon was fine with it, he was tired and Yunkai people held no interest to him. Qohor was more interesting. Hells, even Astapor was more interesting than the yellow city.

The free common citizens and most slaves were spared in the invasion – nor purposely target, at least - , and those who survived wandered through the recently empty luxury buildings trying to get a grip of their situation without their leaders.

_Boring, just boring. I should go see the dragons._

He wanted to summon Grey Worm as well to ask for advice about what to do with all the slaves of Yunkai – since no one else he asked offered a good idea -, but the eunuch was still sore with him about the twenty masters. _It’s not my fault he didn’t saw all the options,_ Jon mused irritated _, he could have not chosen at all. I would have to find me another unsullied captain, but it was still in the table…_

“Lord of the dragons.” A strange woman draw his attention, a little afar in the hall. One of the few with courage to approach him.

She was interesting looking as well. A wooden red mask covered her face, and only allowed the vision of haunting shiny dark eyes. A long hooded dark blue robe covered everything else from head to toe, only adorned with golden necklaces.

“That would be the one and only me.” He smiled, happy to find something intriguing. “And you are?”

“I am Quaithe,” A soft courtesy. “shadowbinder from the lands of Asshai.”

Shadowbinder.Artist: ???

His smiled dropped instantly _. Oh, Oh. Shadowbinder. Dark sorcery. Danger._

He glanced around for any of his guards, and found only two not very far. Still he rest his hand on the hilt of his sword to pass a clear message to her.

“Shadowbider, huh? You are far from home. What someone like you are doing in a city like Yunkai?”

“Westeros is very far as well”. She insinuated. “And I was waiting for you.”

_Anyone could say that._ Jon remained silent, and unimpressed.

“I now many things, Spirit of Fire. Things that happened, things that will happen. For a Snow, you thrives in fire, don’t you?”

That title startled him. Only Cannibal called him like that. If that wasn’t enough she knew his real name. The last one was not so hard to discover, if one had the interest to try. But ‘Spirit of fire’….

“What the fu-- Stop your trickery, witch!” He growled wishing to get out of the conversation. “Just say what you want and fuck off!”

Quaithe’s eyes blinked slowly and narrowed a bit, as if she was dealing with an unruly child. “Oh yes, the fire from your spirit might be hard to domain”. She studied his face, not even slightly worried about his anger. “I am here to help. Your arrival have been prophesized for centuries, but your path is sinuous and covered by fog. You need direction to the right way.”

_What a bunch of shite_. He scoffed at her. “Why do you call me Spirit of Fire? What this even means?”

The deep sultry tone of her voice mesmerized him. “Yours are a great spirit, bounded to a powerful blood that sings the song of ice and fire. People will seek it, lust for it: the power within you. They shall come day and night to see the wonder that was born again into the world, and they shall want and fear you, and what you possess. Dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power.”

“I… yes, sure, they shall want it. But the dragons are mine and only mine. There is nothing to worry about.”

“Lust grows above love. Fear breeds hate and treason. Beware those of the dead blood, the sun’s crown, the flowers and roses, the painted dragons and golden lions. Trust none of them, but do not close your heart to the white flame. Seek under the wolf’s lies to find your way. To go forward you must go back. To be victorious in the north, you must fail in the south.”

_Do I have to be careful with roses and pictures of dragons? What?_

“Go back to where? Who are all these people? If you want to tell me something than speak clearly for fuck’s sake.”

“Back home.” She spoke finally, turning the back to move away. “Your dreams showed you, trust their meaning.”

“Wait,” he clutched her arm, anxious to finally get some answers. “how do you know this? I never told anyone about these dreams.”

“They’re not only dreams, your blood shows you glimpses of the reality. Of the past and future. They show you the way.”

_They show me a land of never ending ice. They show me a tower in the middle of nowhere. They show me dragons, armies and dead creatures…_

_They don’t make any sense._

“Must I go back to Westeros then? What for? You said everything is about my blood. Is it something about my mother?”

She breathed softly, but Jon could not discern the meaning of her stare. “You must learn who you are Jon Snow. The dragons know, do you?”

He ranked his hand through his hair, superbly annoyed. “You ain’t telling me nothing, are ya?”

“I told you enough. It is not my place to share more.” She yanked her arm out of his clutch and started to move away. Jon didn’t dare to follow; shadow binders were no pushovers to deal with. “Build your army. You will find your way.”

He watched the strange woman disappear more confused than ever about himself, and everything that was happening with his life. He didn’t believe her to be his enemy, but she was a bearer of bad omen nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Jon doesn’t know what to do with his slaves. He doesn’t know what it means to be a master. He is a guy moved by money, so people who are not moved by money makes no sense to him. Therefore, he actually paid the unsullied hoping that would make them more ‘useful’ or hard-working. Yeah… 
> 
> Anyway, this whole thing with Grey Worm was a mix of power play and training. Jon is used to be the younger and having very pro-active officers, so he expects Grey Worm to step up in the plate. He also has a little of petty jealousy because Grey Worm is a sort of ‘elected’ leader, while he is a master. Grey Worm is coming in terms with this weird westerosi boy who is his master, and also coming in terms about what means to be a leader and how to deal with the newfound expectations of him.


	24. Rhaella - A grave for the unborn. / Daenerys - A new friend...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Princess Mahda Zhaa' here: https://br.pinterest.com/pin/393924298660756247/

#### RHAELLA – A grave for the unborn.

King’s Landing – 302 AL.

It had been a long time since Rhaella felt the pain of a miscarriage within her family. The dowager queen suffered innumerous ones as her body failed her repeatedly, and wept for every single one of her lost babies, but none had been so painful than that of her granddaughter.

Rhaenys first confirmed pregnancy – the bump had just began to show – and it was over in the morning her granddaughter trudged through the Keep with her bloodied nightgown, searching desperately for someone to help her.

Rhaella had embraced her then, caressed her granddaughter’s soft raven hair while Rhaenys cried on her shoulder. The queen felt the desire to promise Rhaenys that would never happen again, that was just a onetime experience and her body would learn from its mistakes, but experience taught her to be more harrowing to harbor false hope.

So Rhaenys, Daenerys and her ladies-in-waiting were sent to Dragonstone to get a reprieve from all the events. While Aegon was left behind. They assumed that a young man would not dwell over the loss of a child; that Aegon would comfort his sister-wife in the morning and forgot all about it in the afternoon.

They were wrong.

Elia tried to imbue sense into her son’s thick skull, but her daughter in law never persisted past the point the discussion turn heated. Usually – if that happened – she joined Rhaella for advice and comfort. Like she was doing now.

“Aegon insists on burying the… the… I don’t know…” Elia sighed and mused over for a word to describe the remaining her daughter’s pregnancy. “Rhaenys’ _sheets_ in the Sept as a Targaryen family member…”

Unfortunately for Elia, this time Rhaella had an opposing opinion on the problem.

“It’s his child, my dear. I’m glad he understand the importance of fatherhood, ‘tis very mature of him.”

Her daughter-in-law gawked at her as if she had committed treason. “It’s a bloodied smear in a bed linen, Rhaella! Not a child. By the gods…”

“The first miscarriage can be a harrowing experience, let him cope with it the best he can. If burying the sheets can be of some closure, then let him.”

None of her unborn children received any burial rituals in the sept of Baelor. The child ought to had taken at least one breath for the Light of the Seven to recognize the departure of a life. But as a woman who suffered so many losses, she understood.

“It’s not only me, Rhaegar forbade Egg to call for any ritual in Baelor’s Sept. The High Sparrow had been put on notice in case Aegon tries to go forward with his wishes.”

For Elia to be against Aegon on this was one thing, but Rhaegar? Her son should know better!

Rhaella didn’t even bother to lower her voice.“That hypocrite! He offers his unborn child an epitaph and all the decorum in Winterfell’s cripts, but denies Aegon the same for his?” She said without thinking.

“Epitaph?” Elia asked intrigued. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Shame not be possible to take one’s words back. The thought of discussing the child of her son and another woman with her son’s wife was jarring, to say the least. She wished to divert attention to anything else, but Elia stare did not falter while she waited the answer.

“You… ah…It’s nothing, dear. Rhaegar may have mentioned how he demanded for Lord Stark to put some actual reminder of his daughter alongside Lady Lyanna’s tomb after you returned from the North.”

“The baby is buried there?” Elia stared directly at her eyes. She was far more invested in the conversation than the dowager-queen gave it credit. “Rhaella, are you sure about it?”

“I sure am. Age had not withered my memory yet.” She glanced down to admire her sewing work – a glamorous doe amidst a flowered field – abruptly interrupted when Elia barged in her quarters.

“But that’s not possible. The maester told me that there was no baby. Then I asked Lord Stark myself about it and he said that the body was cremated in Dorne. Told me he gave his sister’s child a Targaryen burial, and scattered the ashes on his way back. Only Lyanna’s body resides in the crypt.”

While Elia mused over if she had been lied at or not, Rhaella focused on what Eddard Stark did to her grandchild – a girl, according to Rhaegar.

“Did he scatter the ashes on the road? That’s absurd!” Indignation slithered into her good judgment. Threw away the ashes of a stillborn wasn’t such a felony, but that was _her_ blood. “The baby was a princess of the realm and deserved a proper resting place. Utterly abhorrent. If Rhaegar learns o--”

In a swift movement, her daughter-in-law held her wrist tightly, startling her. 

“Don’t tell him, Rhaella. He doesn’t need to know. What’s done is done. Even if the body was lost, the baby’s memory still received it’s due, that’s enough.”

“But he deserves to know what Eddard Stark did with his child.” She insisted.

“Lord Stark lied for one of us, that’s certain. But what good would be the truth? It will only make Rhaegar angry and hinder our relations with a realm soaked in resentment. Let the past in the past, please.” Elia pleaded further. “We have greater problems as it is…”

The dowager queen pondered over her daughter in law’s words. Best of scenarios Rhaegar would issue a demanding and insulting letter to the North, the other lords would eventually hear of this through their mutual acquaintances, they would be reminded of the rebellion and the circumstances surrounding it, then resentment would flare while naught would be solved. 

Rhaella hunched her shoulders and leaned further on her chair. Her poor granddaughter to be… Another one that would never get justice.

“So be it, my son have his epitaph for the tombstone of his stillborn princess. Let him be. But so deserves Aegon’s.” She aimed a loaded glare at Elia, who sighed at the stubbornness of the older woman.

Rhaella would not lose that discussion. And once he was finished with Elia, she would go after her son – the king.

He would never be too old for a mother’s scolding.

* * *

#### DAENERYS – A new friend. A different sister.

Dragonstone - 302 AL

Princess Mahda Zhaa. Artist:??

Dany, Rhaenys, Margaery, Rose and Siera leaned forward to gawk at the stories of the new lady in waiting Mahda Zhaa, a princess from the Summer Islands. Daenerys had never seen a person like her before; Mahda was older than Rhaenys, had a very dark skin - way darker than the dornish, almost ebony - a slightly broad nose, plump lips and hair that could stand tall without any products. She was tall, strong and curvy like a lad’s dream, but at the moment her body was hidden beneath layers of cloth to protect her from the chill of the fortress. Originally, when disembarking the swam ship, her dress was colorful and provocative, adorned with brightly-colored feathers and precious gemstones. Poor Mahda was glad to know Kingslanding was much warmer than Dragonstone.

“It’s feels like you have been everywhere.” Dany commented with dreamy eyes to the princess who had travel to Pentos, Volantis, Myr, Lys, Qarth , Naath, Bravos and so many other places she lost count. It stroke a little envy when the princess mentioned the different people she knew, and all the things she had seen and witnessed.

_Mahda sailed the Jade Sea, watched plays in Pentos, danced in Lys, ate in Naath and sang in Myr. Whilst I…I never even been on a boat._

“Not at all. The world is such a big place, there are still many cities to go and people to meet.” Mahda answered with a thick accent. “Westeros shall be my new adventure!”

“Where do you get such colorfull big feathers?” Margaery Tyrell asked examining one of said feathers in her hands. She and the other ladies were having the time of their life going into Mahda’s belongings. “Do you dye them?”

“Not at all. There are all kinds of birds in the Isles, this feather in particular comes from a parrot – I think that’s the name in your language. Parrots are marvelous creatures, I have two of them myself. They are big, red, blue or green and extremely intelligent. One of my parrots can speak more than one hundred words and form sentences!”

“You cannot be serious!” Siera Crackwall exclaimed with amusing bugged eyes. “A bird talking? That’s sacrilegious!”

Margaery shoved Siera aside clicking the tongue, then smiling sweetly. “One might think you have no imagination Siera. If the princess say the bird can talk I not only believe, but also envy never have met such a wonderful creature.”

Daenerys saw Rhaenys roll her eyes, and she hid her smile. The effort was ruined when her niece leaned closer to her ear to whisper “The rose might end up with her tongue cramped if she keeps up with the ass licking.”

“I wonder how this look in the body, it looks so loose.” The rose of Highgarden commented out loud.

“I will wear this one when we get to the capitol to show you how it looks.” Mahda said, referring to the exotic blue dress found amidst her belongings. “It’s one of my favorites. Leave just enough for imagination so the men crave for more. Some even walk funny if I wear it long enough.”

The ladies giggled embarrassed and delighted at Mahda’s mischivioness. In the Summer Islands the act of love-making was sacred and important, so the princess had no calms about her sensuality, unlike most westerosi noble women who suppressed it at all costs.

“And this one? This seems to be a very low cut…” Margaery held another dress for them to see. Indeed, the neckline reached the waist.

“Oh… This one I _borrowed_ from my sister. Borrowed without permission.” She smiled as the women giggle some more. “She is one of the best priestess in the Island. Men said that to be inside her is to see the face of the goddess herself, they pay whatever she wants to have such an honor.”

The giggles died out and everyone stared the princess shocked. Rhaenys was the first one to ask. “What do you mean? She…. Does she have sex for money?”

“No, of course not your grace!” Mahda laughed. “She _makes love_ to believers in exchange for donations to the goddess Lamna, patron of love. It’s not mere sex, that would be vulgar. I also served a time in the same temple, like all are expected to”. The princess leaned back and closed her eyes savoring a memory. “Ohh, it was glorious… Is there anything more beautiful and holy than the act of love?”

“That’s prostitution…” Siera said uncomfortable.

Despite sharing the name of Shiera Seastar – probably one of the most beautiful woman who ever lived – Siera could not be described as beautiful in any way, but on the other hand she was extremely pious to the Seven. _Mahda will give her nightmares._

“No, my dearest, It’s faith in its purest form. Although prostitution is not bad either. I considered it for a time. I can’t think of a more honorable profession. Alas… I prefer to wait a little more to see what faith has reserved for me.” The princess quickly glanced their astonished faces before laughing. “Hahaha, have I shocked you my friends? I studied your customs, I know how more puritans than my people you are. Give me some time, I will make you see my point of view.”

“But what about marriage and bastards? Don’t you worry about having a child without a proper husband?”. Rose asked, which surprised the others. She was always so shy that Dany thought it would take a long time for Mahda to hear her voice.

“Oh yes, about that... You must understand we don’t have such thing as marriage in the Summer Islands, so therefore we don’t have bastards either. All children are equal in a father and mother’s eyes. Naturally we have ways to prevent more children than we can handle.”

“This is terrible! I pity the women from the Summer Islands.” Rhaenys spoke outraged. “Without a marriage and the safety to be the mother of the heirs of her husband a noblewoman loses any status in society. She becomes nothing, a person without value. After so many centuries in contact with the Free Cities the islanders should have learnt something…”

Daenerys winced. _Do you really have to sneer at Mahda’s people Rhaenys? Could you not just let go?_

“I respectfully disagree, your grace.” Mahda retorted with a cold stare. “Nothing will ever stripe women of their true value. The lack of marriage takes away the burden of having to breed children for a man, and the fate of being exchanged between families like a good to be traded and married away. You said you pity us, but is not us who need pity.”

There was tension in the room between the two princesses. Her niece with her explosive temper and the Summer princess armed with cold dignity, both glaring at each other.

“The Summer Islands does sound like a place to be free and wild! So lovely…”. Margaery cut in the tension with her faux smiles and soft voice. “What a pity for us civilized and proper women. Perhaps we can learn something with the islanders ourselves.”

_So the rose shows her thorns… It took some time_. The smile never once faltered from Margaery’s face as she also insulted Mahda. _She took Rhaenys’ side… Weird._

The summer princess didn’t back away from the both women. “I must confess I would never have asked for my father to come here if not for a minstrel from your land. He told the most wonderful tales, I could not believe how much intense westerns were. Beneath all your ‘ _properness and civility’,_ you are a very passionate people.”

“What kind of tales are you talking?” Dany urged her on, eager to move to more pleasant topics.

“I like that one about princess Rhaenyra and her fight for the throne. There is also Jenny and the Prince of Dragonflies. Florian and Jonquil. A lot of tales about the age of heroes…. Oh! And a tale of a prince who loved a wolf-maiden above all else and kidnapped her, which caused a war. So romantic…”

_Oh no…._ Dany looked sideways to Rhaenys in time to see her niece riled-up again. There was no safer way to trigger her than to mention the rebellion in a favorable light.

“You think war is romantic? Treason? Death? A prince abandoning his wife and two legitimate heirs to chase a tail amidst a war. That’s _romantic_ for you?” Her niece criticized the princess through gritted-teeth.

“My princess, I am sure she didn’t mean-“ Siera began to speak but was interrupted by Mahda.

“If he loves the woman he chased then yes, of course. True love in not reasonable anyway. Why should he not go after his happiness?” 

“How about duty?! Honor?” Rhaenys exclaimed outraged.

“Duty is so boring, your grace. Now love, lust, ambition, rage… Those are the pillars of a good epic tale. Tell me: when was the last time any of you stopped to hear the story of a good dutiful husband, his arranged wife and their pretty little children living their common lives?” Mahda asked but only received silence as an answer. “That’s what I thought. I am not saying duty and honor are not important, but they do not result in good tales. I dare any of you to argue otherwise.”

“Well, princess Zhaa…” Rhaenys uttered standing up and grooming her skirts. “Some of us have to live in the real life, not stories. If you want to be my lady in waiting, I suggest you get your head out of ‘epic tales’ and focus on your _duties_ , or else life can become very hard for you.” She turned to Siera and Margaery as well. “Stop to caress these dresses and store it in the closet already! Is everyone here sulking into laziness?” 

Her niece stomped out of the room, leaving Daenerys to deal with the aftermath of her eruption again.

“This was interesting…” Margaery said to no one in particular.

“You three can finish unpacking the trunks. Please.” Dany requested with additional courtesy as a way to apologize. “Your grace, can you please accompany me outside? I must speak with you.”

Mahda seemed surprised at the request. “Naturally. I shall return to aid them later.”

Both found Jaime standing outside at the door, at Daenerys request. In fact, since the wedding night, she requested him everywhere she went in an attempt to keep a close eye on any sign of possible treason.

_I still don’t know what to make of him…_

“Your grace, I am sure if you already met, but this is Sir Jaime Lannister. A member of our kingsguard.” Mahda gazed at Jaime with great interest, captivated by the handsome knight. “Jaime, this is our new lady-in-waiting princess Mahda Zhaa, of the Summer Islands”.

“Princess…. It’s an honor.” Jaime kissed her hand politely.

“The pleasure is all mine, Sir. I am sure we will be great friends.”

The three fooled the path to the exterior in direction to the inner bailey, the only place where Dany was sure to be away from prying ears. Jaime had the courtesy to stand a little afar from the two women.

“So… About Rhaenys… I…. She…” She stuttered unsure.

“A feisty one, isn’t she?” Mahda spoke kindly.

“Yes, oh yes. I am so sorry about what happened”. Daenerys said more confident. “Rhaenys can be harsh sometimes, but she is usually friendlier. You caught her in a bad moment.”

“That’s quite alright. Actually I take bluntness and honesty over that flowered woman’s sweet poison any day.”

“You mean Margaery?” The summer princess nodded in response. “Margaery Tyrell can be a handful as well, but she will always smile at you later. She and Rhaenys deeply dislike each other.”

Mahda hummed for a bit in understanding. “I take it you do it a lot? Apologize in behalf of you sister, I mean?”

“Rhaenys is not my sister, she is my niece”.

“Really? I did wonder why you were so different physically.”

“In personality we are practically opposites. But no, I do not apologize for her often. Like I said, it is a bad moment. I don’t know if I should say this to you… Is so soon…”

Mahda kindly touched her arm and offered a warm smile. “I didn’t come here to make enemies, you can trust me _naji_. Besides I am to be your lady-in-waiting, we shouldn’t have so many secrets. You can tell me.”

It was so easy to be swayed by her gentle words… And Dany had been so alone lately, lost in Rhaenys sadness and anger and her own fear of treason. Not forgetting the fear of coming for her brother’s summoning to finally hear she would have to marry someone soon. She gazed in the other woman’s eyes and only saw a promise of friendship; it was irresistible.

“Rhaenys suffered a miscarriage two weeks ago. That’s why we came receive you here in Dragonstone instead of King’s Landing. She came here to heal, but she is still depressed.”

“Goddess, this is horrible! I had no idea…” Mahda exclaimed with a baffled expression.

“Uhum, she cried for days. But she don’t want to talk to anyone about it, not even me. We have always been so close…”. Dany didn’t want to stop, it felt so good to finally put those things out of her chest. “She has been different since the marriage. I am afraid of what will happen to me, to my family, but I cannot talk to Rhaenys anymore. She is always so angry! And I fear my brother will ship me off to somebody I hate, and I will be even more miserable than she is. But nobody will care about it, and I have nobody else to talk too because all my other friends are married and far away from here. Without mentioning the whispers of betrayal I…”

She halted herself and took a breath. This was going too far.

“Sorry.” Dany whispered to the princess, who was looking at her with a blank expression. “I get carried away.”

“That’s alright”. The women answered and stared the skies past her, lost in her own thoughts. “It’s a sad life that in which duty and love cannot coexist.” She mused to herself, before turning back to Dany. “Fear not _naji_ , this will stay between us. Thanks for telling me about the miscarriage, I will be more carefull when dealing with the princess.”

“What this word ‘naji’ means?”

“Means ‘snow’. I hope you don’t mind, it’s just that the color of your hair reminds me of a snowy place I saw once, a long time ago. It looks so fluffy as well.” The princess chuckled, and Dany caught herself doing the same.

“I don’t mind. You can call me _naji_.”

“And you can call me Mahda. This was enjoyable, but you must excuse me, I shall return to help the others.” The woman offered a curtsy, and strolled away. She bolted and turned sideways while still close enough for Dany to hear. “Come find me later _naji_ , we can talk some more. And bring your handsome sun-kissed haired knight!”

The princess disappeared inside the building, while she stood watching. “Bet you loved hearing that.” Dany spoke to Jaime, who had approached her when Mahda left.

“I rather stay out of that foreign’s reach, thank you.” The knight said annoyed. “Although I doubt you will allow me, your grace. Dragging me along for even the minimums affairs like has being happening lately.”

“Is this a complaint?” She rose one eyebrow.

“Never. I live to serve.” He didn’t even bother to sound convincing.

_That’s wrong. We met since I was a baby. He protected me, cared for me, read me stories even when he didn’t want to. He is my friend, isn’t he?_

“Jaime…” She whispered. “You are my friend, right?”

“I think you didn’t give me a choice”. He said with a side smile. “When you were small you used to say I should play with you because we were friends, and that’s what friends are for. Remember?”

_I do remember. Aegon was first to tell me such, and I used it after with everyone who was dear to me and with whom I wanted to play with._

“And you would never betray me or my family….? Even if your family asked you to?”

The smile died out and the green eyes flashed with indignation. “I have a vow. So no.” He was daring her to bring in the kingslaying, she knew. Dany just stood silent instead.

_Please Jaime. Don’t betray me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter I wrote especially for all the debates revolving around Rhaegar and Lyanna’s love. Some people adore it, some hate it. I love these debates because deep down they’re all very personal, and each one’s opinions shows a lot of who we really are.
> 
> Particularly, I love this George R R Martin quote, and I think those words explains a lot in any tale:
> 
> “Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.”
> 
> *Mahda’s talk about ‘serving in the temple’ and ‘prostitution is a high-status profession’ is all from cannon, I swear. Read about the Summer Islands in asoif.com if you are interested.


	25. Robb - The dead opened his blue eyes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Maester Aemon' here: https://br.pinterest.com/pin/548313323387241723/

#### ROBB – The dead opened his blue eyes.

The Wall, Castle Black - 302 AL.

Robb clasped the fur pelt tighter around his frame; he struggled in vain against the harsh unyielding cold of the wall, the chilling win blowing in his face in the earliest light in the morning. After two months in this place, it didn’t feel as bad as it was when he arrived. His heart tighten at the thought of his uncle Benjen lost out there, in the other side of the Wall, without any protection or further clothing to keep him warm.

As soon they heard the news of his disappearance, his father send him with a scout group to aid in the search of his uncle. Robb went in some of them, but they didn’t have the resources to wonder too far from the Wall, and the Lands of Always Winter held all sorts of hostile tribes and clans that made their advancement impossible.

_He is dead. I know it. Nothing can survive out there alone for so long_. He mused sadly. But I must keep trying.

“We lost more two rangers last week.” Lord Commander Jeor Mormont mentioned, while they watched the men practice from the platform. “They haven’t returned yet. After a week, it is improbable they will. ‘Tis been happening a lot lately.”

The Night’s Watch always needed more man and resources, and as heir of Winterfell it was his duty to aid them in that endeavor. Robb felt shame for the decay of the Watch, they lost rangers every week and Castle Black had barely enough recruits to maintain a garrison.

“They just disappeared…” Robb said desolated. “No bodies, no trace. Nothing. How is this possible?”

“There are clans from the ice rivers known to feast on human flesh.” Mormont remarked, but proceeded to reassure him, who gasped horrified. “Don’t worry, my lord. If it were one of ‘em, we would have found signs of camps or any activity by now. This is something else…”

Jeor Mormont was a wise man and a respected commander. His imposing figure and broad-shoulders added to a resolute and strategic mind, resulting in a leader Robb enjoyed to observe and take notes for his future.

He spent some time with the commander when his duties allowed him, and also with Maester Aemon, whose age only increased the intelligence and sagacity. The blind old maester was a member of house Targaryen once, one that would have been king if he wanted to, and who opted to stand aside of the courtly intrigue and join the Watch in favor of his younger and more capable brother. Aemon was a very peculiar sort of man.

_“I still wonder if I may the right choice”. The maester had confess to him one afternoon. “But a god told me in my dreams, when I was younger, that something or someone great would come from my brother’s line and that my destiny was to be a maester of the citadel. We Targaryens and our ‘prophetic’ dreams…” He balanced his head and chuckled. “Most are just delusions.”_

_“And this great thing would be…?” Robb prompted curious._

_“I assume it’s Rhaegar. He was always a special sort, and I heard he is a superb king, maybe the best Westeros ever had. It would take one to keep the realm together after the rebellion.” The old man asserted proudly. “But my younger self had more grandiose expectations, which every one of my family is guilty of having I suspect… Dragons.”_

_It was Robb’s time to chuckle. “I also dreamed of dragons as a child maester, everyone does.”_

_Aemon hummed quietly. “Exactly. If the gods gave the gift of foresight to my ancestors, they should have done it differently than in dreams. Showing them in a bowl of soup perhaps. We wouldn’t have so many problems then.” A hint of playfulness in the glazed milky eyes._

_Robb laughed at the old man’s wisecrack. “We have to teach them to do their jobs sometimes; you are the right man for this job, maester”. He retorted amused. “I can promise you if I ever see a dragon, you will be the first to know.”_

After lunch, Robb heard the bells the Watch rang when the rangers returned to the Wall. He felt glad for their success for once, but didn’t expect anything important from it. So was a surprise when the Commander’s squire came to fetch him.

Robb found the commander in the morgue, accompanied by the maester and the maester’s steward Samuel Tarly. Two bodies displayed on the table, rangers due to the black clothing.

“Lord Stark,” The lord Commander greeted him. “Othell Yarwyck’s party just arrived with the bodies. These are Othor and Jafer Flowers,” He indicated the corpses with a jerk of his head. “they were found in the haunted forest, far away from any settlement we know of”. The commander turned to Robb to look directly into his eyes. “They were part of your uncle’s group.”

_Is that all?…_ He thought anguished.

“But…” Robb swallow heavily. “Nothing of my uncle?”

“Yarwyck will return tomorrow to search the surroundings for Ben. If nothin’ is found...” He shook his head sadly and sighed. “Maybe you will have to celebrate the last rites without a body, my lord.”

“My condolences, young man.” The maester said to him kindly. “There is always hope, but with the rest of his group dead I think it’s time for us to accept the worst outcome and move on. It’s been two months already…”

“Thank you, maester Aemon, and you’re right. I will return to my father with the news by tomorrow, and I’ll make sure your requests reach the crown as well.”

Robb was relieved, despite his grief. He wanted to go back home, to meet his wife and son again. His parents and siblings as well. He wanted to put an end to this search once for all; two months were a long time waiting and hoping and Robb was tired of it all.

His uncle came to his mind, smiling and ruffling his hair after a fight with Jon and Theon when they were just boys. _‘You are a big pighead, boy.’_ He admonished him kindly _, ‘Stop this sulking and go back play with them. If you don’t bend a bit, you may crackle and then your father will make me clean your pieces off the floor._ ’ 

Robb felt the tear menacing to fall, but a man never cried. _First my brother, now my uncle... Please forgive me._

“Strange.” The Tarly steward remarked analyzing the bodies. “They must be dead for a few days at least, but they are not rotten nor blackened, just frozen.”.

“Ice preserves, Sam. Here in the far north you can preserve whatever amount of raw meat you want outside.” The maester lectured him kindly. “And we are just flesh in the end. Still, it is indeed strange the extremities are not blackened at least. Did you check his toes? ”

Samuel Tarly presence in the Night’s Watch left Robb wondering when he first saw him. Robb thought he was his father’s heir, but since the guy was here, he must have confused. He didn’t think it was his place to ask.

“Aye. You may be a coward, Tarly, but you are not stupid”. The commander mentioned staring at the feet of the dead rangers; perfectly frozen. “We should give ‘em a proper burial if you’re don’, Maester Aemon.”

“Actually, commander, I would like to examine the bodies a little further. I think there are yet answers to be found. Sam here will be my eyes.” 

“Have as you like, Aemon.”

___________________________________________

Robb woke up to Grey Wind’s fussing at the door, scratching his paws at the wood. The wolf wailed to be left out, so Robb got up the bed to console him. At three years old, the direwolf was bigger than any normal one, but he was still his puppy.

“What’s wrong, boy? Need to relief yourself?”

Grey Wind insisted in scratching the door, but his whines were desperate. His wolf was telling him something important, warning him. He grabbed his sword just in case.

“Is someone out there?” Robb opened the door for him and the wolf stomped out in a hush, glancing back eventually to see if Robb was following him. “What is it?”

Grey Wind went to the Lord Commander’s quarters and barked loudly; the wolf seemed to want the whole fortress alert.

“Lord Commander?!” He slammed the door, but to no answer. “Lord Commander, are you okay?!”

Robb kicked the door out of its hinges and found only silence and darkness inside. Grey Wind sniffed around, still agitated despite the obvious peacefulness.

“Lord Commander?” He cried once again, to no answer.

Robb got close to the second door to the bedroom, when suddenly his wolf roared eyeing behind him. Grey Wind attacked and Robb unsheathed his word turning back to see the assailant who dared to invade the Commander’s quarters.

_What the f…_

It was Othor - the ranger who was dead on the morgue’s table – but instead of the glaze stare of the dead, Othor possessed shiny blue eyes. Bright and lifeless.

Robb gasped and staggered back, while his wolf bolted forward against the living corpse. _He was dead! This is not possible, he is dead!_

Grey Wild pushed the man to the ground and held him there while Robb hushed and plunged his sword into Othor’s stomach. Then, as fast he could, Robb he grabbed his wolf by the collar and struggled to yank him away from that… thing. The wolf wanted to keep fighting, but Robb was scared and wanted his friend safe.

“Lord Stark?” Lord Commander asked from the second door of his alcove. “What are you doing here?”

“Mormont, don’t come any clo--“ He stopped talking when he realized Othor moved one arm, then another.

Robb watched in horror while the dead man came back to his feet once again, unbothered by the sword deep in his bowels. Grey Wind snarled and wiggled with renewed ferocity against the dead man. Othor simply plucked the sword out and charged at the three of them.

The northerner lad didn’t have any time to plan. His wolf was struggling against his hold, Ser Jeor looked horrified after realizing _who_ that man was and he himself was weaponless. As Grey Wind escaped his grasp, Robb used his free hands take the sword from the scabbard of the stunned commander, just in time to block the attack from the live corpse, using the window to whirl his sword and slash the attacker’s face. Grey Wind helped by biting Othor’s thigh, striking him out of balance.

The cut wasn’t deep enough to kill, but to Robb relief it seemed to do the trick. Othor dropped to the ground, his eyes losing the haunting blue color from before. The dead was finally dead.

_What just happened?_

___________________________________________

“Calm down, Lord Commander, the men ar-“

“MEN ARE RISIN’ FROM THE GROUND! Don’t tell me to calm down!” Jeor Mormont yelled to Dywen, a veteran ranger.

All of them were shocked by what happened. Dead man alive, cold blue eyes… Robb wasn’t stupid, he knew what that meant: white walkers.

Othor wasn’t the only one to return; Jafer flowers, the other corpse in the morgue, killed eight black ones before he went down. Ser Jaremy Rykker - the First Ranger in his uncle’s absence and one of the Night Watch’s best fighters - was one of the deceased. Apparently, Rykker cut Jafer’s head, and soon after was murdered by the headless body. The thing continued to struggle until the watchers hacked the corpse into pieces so it could no longer fight.

The pieces twitched though. Unlike Othor whose body was whole and unmovable, those hideous scattered members squirmed like worms. It was jarring to watch, and the rangers refused to get near it.

As if the Lord Commander wasn’t angry enough.

Robb opted to let the Old Bear deal with his men, and went to Maester Aemon instead. Certainly, the old sage knew something helpful about all this.

Maester Aemon,by Audrey Hotte.

_This can’t be happening… The Others are just a myth. Myth! Giants, white walkers, grumpkins, children of the forest… All of it are myths to impress children…_

_But you just saw one_. His mind whispered to him, sending a chill down his spine. I _t was in front of you, it attacked you._

“Sam?” The blind maester inquired as soon he stepped into the study. “Is that you?”

“It’s Robert Stark, maester. Sorry to bother you, I know it’s late…”

“Ah, I heard what happened. I doubt there is a single soul sleeping in this fortress now.” The old man sat at the table, and nodded to a chair next to him. “Please sit. It can be lonely in the darkness.”

“It’s quite bright in here.” Robb mentioned glancing the flames flickering in the fireplace.

The maester’s lips curled in mockery, to which Robb felt like a moron. _Blind… Right…_

A screeching crackle boomed from his side, sending Robb – alert and wary due to night’s events – to huff and flinch several paces. “Corn, corn, corn.” A crow croaked.

“Oh, don’t mind him.” The maester chuckled, and dismissed the bird with a gesture of his hand. “The Lord Commander spoils him too much.”

Robb breathed then, feeling silly for letting a crow unveiled him as a coward. Once calm, he sat in front of the maester. “I killed one of them.” He said quietly, unsure how to start. “The Other…”

“By Sam’s description, I don’t think it was an Other. They were wights, which are very different.”

Of all the things he predicted the maester would say, _that_ was not one of them.

“What?! Wait… How so?” Robb wanted answers, and not to be even more confused and alarmed than before.

“ Those were dead men, somewhat resurrected to do another’s bidding”. Aemon explained. “But he was still human, in a way. An Other is another being altogether; a different species, we can say.”

“They… Wait, do they resurrect the dead?”

The maester hummed, his glazed eyes wandering to his memories. “Necromancy is often associated with the dark arts, I wonder if it’s due to its connection with the white walkers… Sadly, there is precious few recorded about these beings. I read they are tall, elegant and beautiful; skin pale as milk, bones that shine like milkglass and swords made of the hardest crystal. You must have heard about the tales of the Night King’s queen*, a woman so beautiful the thirteenth lord commander gave in the temptation to join her into an unholy union. Or the tales about how the wildlings offered the women they steal from the south to the Others, who lay with them to produce half-human children -”

“Yes, but these are legends!”

The thirteenth lord commander of the Night’s Watch had been a Stark, and the tale of how he gave his heart – and his seed – to a white walker woman, declaring himself king in the process, was one among many from the Age of Heroes.

“And so are the white walkers. However, here we are.” He said sagely.

“This is crazy… How do you even know so much about this? How can you be so calm?”

“I always been an enthusiast of the forbidden knowledge, much to the disgust of my teachers in the citadel. My ancestors were powerful sorceress, and I wanted to learn their secrets, maybe bring dragons back again.” He smiled nostalgic. “But there is more magic in the world that we can imagine, and the Others are among its most incredible progeny. As for being calm, how else should I be? For you this is an unbelievable legend turning into real life, but for me it was always a reality that one day would return to haunt us.”

“I grew up listening to the tales but…” He sighed. “What else is true?”

“Who knows… Everything, I wager. The Night’s Watch don’t fraternize with the wildlings as I would like, we systematically execute them. They must have wonderful tales from the lands of always winter”.

Maester Aemon was unusually happy with the dead coming back to life, just like a little boy who discovered all his works of imagination came true. The lunatic probably wanted to go live with the wildlings and see for himself if giants were real.

_Wait… The wildlings!_

“Maester… What about the wildlings? They are out there with… them.”

“Yes, they are. While we are protected by this fabulous Wall - which your ancestor built, by the way, after the last Long Night. The wildlings won’t stay there quietly whilst death prowls in the dark, they will want to go south more than ever. Shall we allow them, Lord Stark?”

Robb understood the maester’s meaning. It was a dilemma; if left out there the wildlings will perish, if allowed to go past the Wall they will cause havoc for his people. Both were unacceptable, but for Robb the first was the lesser evil.

“The commander once said they were behaving strangely. Their camps and villages are being abandoned; the people just gather their possessions and leave. But to where?”

“Your uncle left to answer that question, but he and many others never returned. Ser Waymar Royce disappeared as well, but one of his fellow rangers returned and tried to break his vows. I heard Rhaegar executed him for desertion.”

“Yes, I was there.”

_I was there, and that scared shitless ranger told us what he had seem. But we didn’t listen._

“Maester Aemon, do you need anything?” The tubby Tarly steward stepped into the room, but halted upon seeing Robb. “Lord Stark, forgive me, I had no idea you were here.”

“That’s all right Samuel, lord Stark was just talking with me for some knowledge. Please, join us.” Aemon turned to Robb and said quietly. “Samuel is very studious and he basks all day in those old tomes in our library. He knows as much as I about the mysteries of the beyond.”

“Is this true, lord Tarly?” Robb asked interested.

“Please, lord Stark, I am a brother of the Night’s Watch, not a lord”. The young man answered embarrassed. “And maester Aemon gives me more credit than I deserve.”

“Don’t be shy, Sam. Between those dusted old scrolls and me you are kept busy all day. You may not be aware, lord Robert, but Castle Black contains writings older than the Wall itself, and it takes a lot of skill and perseverance to comprehend them. Thankfully, Sam here possesses plenty of both.”

A bright pink flushed Tarly’s cheek with the compliment, and only got Robb more curious about what he learned.

“What do you know about them? The white walkers…”

“I know they are powerful and strong and have bright sparkling blue eyes. Those blue eyes are passed to the wrights when they are created. In one scroll a ranger recorded that their skin was very cold, and they could feel the warmth of other creatures.”

“Living creatures…” Robb mused.

“Oh no, they are alive, lord Stark. They are born, they grow, they eat and die. Just like any other living thing. They are sentient and even talk, but we can’t understand; one transcription mentioned it sounded like ice crackling.”

“They eat?” Robb asked surprised. “What could they possibly eat?”

“Flesh.” Sam answered simply. “In ancient times, the first men often left offerings to appease them, animals or… babies”.

“People still do, Sam”. Aemon remarked. “The commander knows about it more than anyone. But don’t mention about this with him, it’s a subject the others don’t need to be aware of.”

“That’s monstrous...” Robert spat disgusted.

“Actually it’s very normal.” Sam blurted out then halted wary of Robb’s frown. He proceeded stuttering. “I mean… If you look at nature… Well… animal eat babies all the time, even their own babies… N--Not that this is right! But…”

“I am more interested in how to kill them.” He stated grim. Let the scholars debate what’s right and wrong in nature. Robb was an objective man.

“Not any weapon is effective. The Others are very strong and resilient. But in one tome a men described obsidian to be very useful. I am not sure what obsidian is, but maester Aemon says it’s another name for dragon glass.”

“It’s how the first men called dragon glass, there was no dragons here at that time.” The maester clarified.

_How the fuck will we get dragonglass?!_

“That wight I killed… My sword didn’t work very well, but commander Mormont’s sword killed it instantly with just a slash...”

“The one with the bear carved in the hilt?” Sam nipped his meaning immediately.

Robb forced his mind to remember, after all he didn’t pay attention to the sword, he had biggest concerns in the moment. “Yes, I believe it is that one.”

“That’s valyrian steel. The ancestral blade of his house.” Sam replied, as if the type of steel was in itself an explanation.

_Longclaw? I thought Jorah Mormont had taken the sword with him._

“That was Longclaw then…”

“The world lost the secret of the making of valyrian steel,” Aemon said. “but they are deeply infused with the magic of ancient valyrians, forged in dragon fire. No doubt the steel are effective against the spawn of darkness and ice.”

“Lightbringer might be of valyrian steel!” His pupil added enthusiastically. “The legends say the sword was red, it both shone and radiated heat. Valyrian steel swords are nothing like it, but it’s the closest we got.”

“You may be right, Samuel, but what is Lightbringer without Azor Ahai? The last Long Night had a hero, and despite what the prophecy says I see no sign of another champion of the living.”

Robb just nodded not sure of what they were talking about. Sorcery, legends and ancient history were things out of his scope. The few thing his knew of it was thanks to his nursemaid, Old Nan.

“What exactly are you on about?”

“Have you never heard about Azor Ahai?” The old man asked bemused, then clicked his tongue. “Shouldn’t really surprise me, is common knowledge in Essos – where the god R’hllor are worshipped – but not here. Azor Ahai is the hero from the last Long Night that befell the world eight thousand years ago. He appears in many cultures with different names, but Azor Ahai is what I am more familiar.“

Robb leaned forward, eager for what the maester had to say.

“They believe he is a champion of their god, which is a deity of light, life and fire. His duty in the world is to defeat the Great Other, the antithesis of R’hllor, the god of ice, dark and death…”

_Ice,dark, death… Just like the White Walkers._

“He forged Lightbringer in order to fulfill his destiny - a sword tempered in the heart of his most loved and wife Nissa Nissa. With it, he ended the Great Other’s reign. A very interesting tale, but it’s the prophecy that interest us. You see… There is this belief that one day Azor Ahai will be born again, when the world needs him most, and will wield Lightbringer once again to defeat the Great Other.”

“And… Are the White Walkers the Great Other?”

“No, I suppose they are his champions. The prophecy calls the reincarnation of Azor Ahai ‘the Prince that was Promised’, a savior born amidst salt and smoke beneath a bleeding star. Some versions, especially within my family, claims he will wake dragons from stone too. He is to be our champion.”

“Gods, this is… This is too much. Legends, prophecies, and magic…What you speak off is a legend from Essos, the Others dwell just outside this Wall, and they are connected?”

“The world is but one, young Stark. And I must remind you that your blood belongs to the kings of winter, to the first men, lineages way older than my own, and with magic as well. Wargs comes to mind. You may claim to know nothing of it, but not that it has nothing to do with you.” The maester glanced to his direwolf, sensing the beast even without seeing it.

“It has a lot to do with me, with the North. _That_ ’s the problem.” He retorted exasperated. “What you just told me it’s everything I know about it.”

“So hurry and prepare yourself. Winter is upon us! Gods help us all if we are not ready.”


	26. Aegon - This time will be different. / Elia - You are my promised prince.

#### AEGON – This time will be different.

Summerhall surroundings - 302 AL

The sky of the night was starlight, the air dry and warm, perfect for what he intended. Although pretty, the night was as good as any other. Aegon hoped that would change soon when a red comet graced the horizon, heralding the rebirth of dragons into the world: the one event that would be that same night in the beacon of history.

“My grandmother?” Aegon asked Brynden Tully, after sending the knight to check on Rhaella and his parents.

“She thinks you and the princesses are exploring the surroundings.” He answered with a bored face.

_Perfect, it’s just as he wished._

“And my mother? My father?” Aegon pressed on, since he knew the old knight would speak nothing on his own.

If there was one thing Brynden Tully hated, it was interactions of any kind with the royal family. A deplorable trait in a kingsguard.

_But then again, his total disinterest in their well-being is what makes him perfect for what I have in mind._

“They know nothing as well, your grace”. The knight said like it took him a great effort. “You needn’t worry.”

Besides the Blackfish, Jonothor Darry insisted on coming as well upon seeing the prince sneaking out of his rooms. Had he not known Sir Jonothor as a trustworthy man, who would not tell a soul of his plans without his consent, the plans for tonight would have to be forfeit.

It would be easier if his family hand’t come with him to the decayed fortress, but when Aegon announced he wanted to spend the week of the harvesting in the ruins of Sumerhall everyone else thought it was the most marvelous idea, one they would follow as well.

He had no clue why.

Is not that Sumerhall didn’t have its charms, but a ruin was a ruin. His father was the only one who used to spend some time in the gloomy place, but even he did it sparingly. The royal family had access to decent accommodations in a modest palace erected close to the ruins, but that was it.

Rhaenys stood close, helping Daenerys arrange the dragon eggs on top of the pyre. “Egg… How we are doing it?”

“You stay there, Rhae”. He fetch himself the bowl. “I got this.”

Aegon slashed his arm with a dagger and let the blood flow freely into the recipient. It had to be enough for the three eggs. The ancient writings he and his father went through were explicit about the importance of the right blood, so he had to be generous with the quantity.

Even if he felt a little dizzy due to the effort.

“Why you don’t want father here? He should have come…” Rhaenys chided, although disinterested over her own suggestion.

Aegon wanted him here, but what if it didn’t work? What if his blood was useless and he failed like all the other Targaryens before him, instead of fullfiling part of the prophecy he was born for?

He couldn’t stand the disappointment in his father’s eyes; Rhaegar’s sad smile while he embraced Aegon and assured him there was nothing to worry about, whilst he knew it was just not true.

_That_ if his father didn’t lose his mind about he trying to hatch dragon eggs in Sumerhall, in the same way his great-grandfather did so many years ago.

No. Father should _not_ be here.

He placed the three eggs in the pyre and poured his blood over them, offering a quick prayer to the valyrian gods, asking them to beget his line with the power of the ancient valyrians once again. _Aegon the Conqueror should never had set aside our gods, maybe that’s why they left us_.

By the corner of his eye, he saw Ser Jonothor gasp in horror at the sight of his blood in the pyre. The amount of paganism in the ritual probably crashed heavily against the poor knight’s own faith. He would surely ran to offer a prayer to the Seven for Aegon’s soul as soon they were finished.

Not Tully, though. Brynden Tully neither cared for his family, nor expected anything better than blood magic from them.

“Can you feel their warmth, Egg?” Daenerys asked him trailing her finds over the scaled surface. She beamed bewitched by their beauty. “They are ready for the world, I just know it.”

He smiled back at his aunt. Not even Aegon loved the symbol of their house so much as Daenerys. She loved to be around the eggs, to drape herself in Targaryens colors, to watch the fire crackling in front of the fireplace. She was a Targaryen to the core.

Dany and Rhaenys would both give him the might and strength necessary to wake the dragons.

Brynden lit the pyre in a moment, casting a scolding glance to Aegon’s way. He felt Rhaenys clutching his shoulder and waited hopeful for what was to come. The structure of the bonfire was about two meters high and just as large in diameter, but it ignited fast which he took as a good sign.

Aegon could visualize vividly the little creatures back again into Targaryen prestige, their sight glorying the skies of Westeros once again. He could imagine his parents’ proud visage of his achievement, his name remembered as Aegon the Dragonborn in the mouths of the people.

He and Rhaenys flying to the great war to save their country against the great evil, as is was always meant to be.

They stood there watching the fire grow and burn bright and Aegon waited for the sounds of the dragons. They would be reborn in the same place his father was born and so many of his family lost their lives, all to which would lead to Aegon’s birth.

Their deaths would not be in vain.

Time however, went by, and nothing was happening. He felt Dany’s gaze on him, and knew she had a sorrowfull face aimed at him with the purpose of comforting him. So did Rhaenys and Jonothor…

Anger burned deep down his heart, albeit marred with a bit of fear. He didn’t want their pity!

The fire began to die out and Rhaenys squeezed his hand softly. “Egg… We should go. It’s late…”. She said with a firm tone.

“No…” He babbled with difficult. His attention fixed in the pyre, almost daring the gods to fail him.

“Egg, stop being stupid! Nothing will happen, let it go!” She chided him impatient.

“No, no!” He exclaimed as he saw Jonothor and Tully reading the buckets of water. Both knights stopped and stared him puzzled. “Nothing is happening, why nothing is happening?”

“Aegon..;” Daenerys joined in, also squeezing his arm. “Maybe the time is not right, maybe-“

“They PROMISED me! They told me I was the one!” He yelled back to them.

Rhaenys huffed and threw her hands in the air exasperated. She threw a look at Dany asking her to do something, but the other girl was as clueless as she was.

_Why can’t you understand?_ Aegon silently plead to Dany, to the gods, to anyone…. _This is my fate. If I fail we all die.._

_I will let my people down like the useless prince everybody think I am…_

_My father was a daring warrior, a poet, a strategist. Rhaegar exceled at everything since a young age, but I… I am nothing…._

With renewed purpose, he yanked his arm out of his aunt’s clutch and stomped towards the fire with no intention to stop.

“Your grace!” Brynden shouted when he realized his intention. Regardless of his personal loyalties, the knight had made an oath as a kingsguard to uphold. “Don’t go any near!”

“YOUR GRACE!” Jonothor yelled rushing to stop Aegon, just like the Blackfish.

Rheanys and Daenerys also join their voices running in his direction for him to stop, but Aegon wasn’t listening, neither did he care to. _This is my destiny, my heritage._

He hushed so they wouldn’t reach him and stretch his hand to the eggs, but he never went as far to touch them. The pain was overwhelming and he snapped out of his haze to throw himself in the grass in a desperate effort to put out the fire, which began to spread from his sleeve to his chest and back.

The prince howled in pain while the knights threw their capes over him, Jonothor trying without success to rip off Aegon’s doublet.

“EGG! EGG!” Dany called to Aegon, while running to him clutching a bucket of water. Rhaenys followed suit snarling at the knights to give them space as they threw the water over him.

Aegon was barely capable to process what they were saying or doing to him, only focusing in his effort to not scream in pain due to his burns. His hand hurt so much he felt incapable of not letting out whimpers and tears begging the gods to help him.

They seemed to hear his plead, for Aegon felt his conscious slipping away barely in time to see a shade of white and black looming over him.

_What have I done?_

* * *

#### ELIA – You are my promised prince.

Summerhall, 302 AL – two hours later.

Elia focused on inhaling and exhaling at the proper amount and time in an effort to calm herself. To see her son arrive carried in the arms of a kingsguard, unconscious and with his left arm burned and bloodied, almost left her hysterical. _He is well and alive, he is well and alive_ , she repeated it over and over as if it were a sacred mantra.

While her family waited for the maester to treat Aegon and deliver his verdict about the arm, Ser Darry told them what happened that night; the lie, the pyre and the dragons eggs… Elia wished he hadn’t.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS!?” Her husband roared to their daughter, albeit his reasoning was married with the desperation of a father.

Rhaenys faced him with a senseless visage. If not for a subtle quiver in her lower lip, Elia would think she didn’t care about what was happening. “I am sorry Aegon is hurt father, but it’s not our fault. We were only trying to hatch the eg-“

That answer only made him more angry, if that was possible. “HATCH THE EGGS! IN SUMERHALL?” He yelled and clamped his hand in the door, maybe as a replacement of Rhaenys’ cheek. “Do you have any idea of the tragedy that happened here?! The lives our family lost trying for the same?!”

She saw two servants flinched and discreetly leaving the room in fear. Rhaegar was so composed that most people didn’t know how frightening he could be when angered. Elia herself only witnessed it twice in her life, both times related to their children. _A dragon he is, and sometimes it can waken.._

“But Rhaegar, you were going to try to hatch them right?” Daenerys managed to say while sobbing. “Aegon just took the initiative, we were careful I promise. It was an accident.”

“No excuses, Daenerys!” Rhaella joined in, just as anger as Rhaegar although in a cold fashion. Nobody lost more in the tragedy of Sumerhall than the queen-mother. “You knew what you were doing was wrong, or else you wouldn’t have done it in secret!”

Daenerys flinched and lowered her teary eyes ashamed. She was so well-behaved and righteous that the whole affair felt difficult for her mind. Her honest regret didn’t go unnoticed by Rhaegar, however, since he calmed down slightly.

“You had to wait for me to make the proper arrangements”. He explained to her. “Not stock a bunch of wood in a pile and set fire on it, risking the lives of everyone!”

“My king… If I may?” Ser Brynden said cautiously, albeit too smug for his own good.

Rhaegar’s head snapped towards the kingsguard, suddenly remembering their presence. “Don’t think you two wont be punished for it, Blackfish. My son was greatly hurt with two kingsguard in tow, if I did you not know better I could called it treason.”

Ser Jonothor winced, but the Blackfish remained unfazed by the threat – bored even. “Your majesty, we placed the pyre in a safe spot, there was no way the fire would spread much further. Prince Aegon, however, purposely walked to it and shove his hand in the flames. He burned himself on purpose.”

That Aegon had hurt himself caught them off guard. One thing was an accident, another was her son losing control of his mind - a dangerous sign in someone of Targaryen blood. The Targaryens in the room understood the underlying meaning and the anxiety rose even further.

_Will my Aegon go mad? Oh gods, no… Please no…_

Elia felt her breath failing her again, her mother in law not much better, staring Dany again since the girl had lied when she said it was an accident. Rhaegar half ordered half-threated Ser Jonothor to tell them the truth, but the knight only reasserted what they dreaded to hear.

“I… Maybe he did, my king, But he seemed lost for a moment, he wasn’t himself.”

Rhaenys huffed and smirked. “He is like a boy gauging himself with women and silly dreams of dragons, then acting like a fool. Does that remind you of someone, dad?”

Elia blanched while Rhaegar aimed their daughter with a warning glare. “Rhaenys…” he let out between gritted teeth.

Daenerys hushed to Rheanys side and clutched her arm silently begging her to stop, but this bitterness that took over her daughter after her wedding rose at any moment, striping her of any compassion of good-sense.

Rhaenys always had been difficult, but lately she could barely recognize her joyful and clever little girl.

“I refuse to be held guilty for this”. Rhaenys said nonchalantly. “Daenerys and I did nothing wrong. We built a pyre and tried to hatch some eggs, that’s all. If Aegon stuck his hand in the fire or some people were so careless they all died in the past it’s-“

“Quiet, Rhaenys!” Elia cut in before Rhaegar snapped again. “It’s late and a lot happened… Go to your room, we will deal with you tomorrow.”

She watched her daughter forfeit her petty feud and leave the room with Rhaegar glaring a hole in her back. Daenerys followed, but not before throwing a nod in her way in gratitude. Sensing the king would not continue to ascertain their behavior, the kingsguard left as well.

Rhaella was nowhere in sight. The queen-mother set off to check on Aegon moments before. Surely the maester would not deign to deny her access to her grandson.

“That’s your fault, Rhaegar”. Elia let out after a moment of silence, that notion in her heart too much to bear in silence. “You put these ideas in his head. I told you, I warned you to leave him be, to do not drag him into your delusions but you couldn’t, could you? No… You had to push him, and push him….”

“Don’t you dare, Elia. I haven’t say a word for him about the prophecy in years.” He retorted sounding like a wronged man. “I love my children more than anything. I made a mistake when he was a child, but I tell him since not to worry about such things. That he is perfect the way he is.”

_Maybe,_ she conceded, _but the harm was already done._

“Excuse me, your majesty?” Maester Harthot called from the door, sensing the tension between them. “I am finished with the prince. Maybe you would like to see him?”

Both king and queen hurried to their son’s side, Elia hunched over him to examine the bandages in his left arm. Rhaella was sat by his side, caressing Aegon’s silver hair and mumbling a prayer.

The sun-kissed skin of her boy was pale, his handsome face distorted into a pained expression even in his sleep. She would give anything to take away his pain, to see him wake up and give her that dashing grim that only her brother and Aegon could master.

Her husband also trailed his hand in his son’s head before turning to Harthot. “When will he awake?” He asked the young maester.

“I will keep him sedated with milk of the poppy for a couple of days, your grace, to help with the pain. After that he will be on smaller doses, but he will be fine.”

Rhaegar nodded and pointed out. “His arm?”

“The left arm and hand will be forever scarred, but he will regain full movements if we treat it adequately. The prince will need to move his hand everyday while healing, it will be extremely painfull, but necessary for the scar tissue not to compromise the joints.”

Whilst Rhaegar and the maester discussed the details of Aegon’s treatment - which Elia would get informed later when she was in a better state of spirit - she mused once again why would her son put his hand in the fire and if that was a sign of madness. Just like Rhaella, she prayed to the seven for his well-being, and the well-being of her family, who had suffered so much already.

“This obsession with dragons will forever haunt our family, rot us from within.” Rhaella whispered quietly, as if afraid of disturbing Aegon’s sleep.

“I am scared, Rhaella.” Elia admitted to the woman who was like a mother to her. “I am afraid for Aegon, for his future… This” She said motioning to Aegon’s arm. “may be a sign of madness. My son…”

The queen mother stretched out her arm to caught a tear in Elia’s cheek. “Be vigilant my dear, but never scared. Aegon will need your strength in the weeks to come.”

“How will I know if my son is mad? Will I stop recognizing him?”

Her mother-in-law sighed and looked at her with pity. “You may not recognize him, but you will never stop loving him. No matter what he does or how much he hurt you, you will love him forever”. Rhaella replied thoughtful and Elia knew they were not talking about Aegon anymore. “You will wait day and night for glimpses of his old self, and the few times that happens will give you strength to endure a bit more. You will cry and pity him for his misfortune; ‘Twould be easier to hate him if it was his fault, but it’s not, and for that you can’t forego him. And that is the unsung side of the Targaryen curse, my dear: the ill-fate of loving a mad person.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I actually laugh when I imagine Brynden Tully. Imagine a cranky old man, grumbling and scowling all the time, in charge of watching over people he grew to hate due to having to watch over them in the first place. He is a badass and a legend, sure, but there he is stuck with the Targaryens that he would love to watch die, but can’t thanks to his vows. Worst kingsguard ever.  
> *People freak out sometimes. Especially the ones under a lot of stress, like a prince. That’s not mean they are going mad, but among the Targaryens there’s always a risk.


	27. Jon - Sassy overgrown lizards / Eddard - Northern bastard outlaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image "Friends of Snow attack" here: https://www.deviantart.com/lynxsphinx/art/Hunting-487519514  
> "Flying a dragon" here: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/a9/50/0f/a9500ff98d20f369b80f9c717ad8b9ff.jpg

#### JON – Sassy overgrown lizards.

Somewhere in the Summer Sea.

Flying a dragon, by Jorge Gonzalez

Jon was flying on Cannibal like he did every day since their meeting, Sheepstealer and Silverwing hovering nearby. With the wind blowing in his face, Jon fancied himself passing through a cloud. Way below them, he was able to visualize his army sailing on their way to Volantis, already halfway their destination. It’s past one month since they began their journey.

_I still cannot believe I am riding a dragon, this huge, black, around three-hundred-year old dragon._

They were majestic creatures, but climbing in Cannibal’s back while in the sea was actually funny. The dragon floated next to the ship with his huge wings, and Jon just had to get down the vessel and walk to his back. The sight of the dragons just lazing around the sea, sometimes with their bellies up like big fat cats in a carpet, made him laugh.

He also enjoyed talking to them. It was hard, but both human and dragons were slowly improving in understanding each other.

Cannibal told him – after long hours and not without difficulty – that none other than Balerion the Black Dread was his sire, having laid his egg upon arriving in dragonstone, which hatched soon after. However, Cannibal remained on his own, refusing to bound with the Targaryens or remaining near humans – they ‘bored’ him, apparently. Jon was really flattered by the dragon’s interest in him.

Sheepstealer was more aloof, just happy to be around and glad whenever he get the chance of eating mutton. He didn’t held much love for his first and only rider – Nettles – and just bounded with her out of interest. In fact, he didn’t like humans in general, but appreciated greatly Urthemiel and Skyfall’s company, his ‘little ones’ – who were too little to fly with them yet. Jon understood him because he knew his history: his egg was rejected by the Targaryens, who had options at the time and preferred dragons with more beautiful coloring, unlike his mud brown one.

_If one saw this mighty dragon now, he would never guess he had been discarded once._

The most joyful and talkative one on the other hand, Silverwing, grew up among humans and knew a great deal about Westeros history and geography. He often reminisced about his first rider, queen Alysanne, with love and sorrow, and told Jon about the queen’s generosity and idealism of making the world a better place. He also insisted of calling Jon a Targaryen, which was starting to get weird because he explained to the dragon several times about his origins. 

**“You. Smell.”.** Silverwing insisted, without room for questioning.

**“That’s ridiculous,”** Jon countered. **“you have been away for one hundred years. How you would remember their smell?”**

Silverwing huffed in his ‘you too much of a dumb human to understand’ way, but ended up answering. **“Never. Forget. She. Smell.”**

The dragon was reminding her again, his sorrow burned into Jon’s soul. _It is a shame humans lives are so short_ , he mused, _nobody thinks of the grief in which the dragons are left behind_.

Opting for distract the dragon, Jon asked some question about the queen even the North loved. **“Did you ever talk about what is beyond the Wall? I read she visited there, but you refused to fly past it.”**

**“No. Talk. She.”**

**“What?”** He was confused now. **“Why not? You can talk to me.”  
  
**

Silverwing huffed again, albeit this time because he didn’t know the answer. **“You. Unlike.”**

**“Spirit. Fire. Strong.”** Cannibal stated smug. That was his usual explanation for everything. That and ‘burn them’ when Jon was upset.

**“First. Dragon. Humans. Strong,”** Silverwing continued, letting out a light roar to Cannibal for interrupting him. **“But. Not. Talk. Dragons.”**

**“So… You never talked to humans before me?”**

**“Human. Bother. Dragon.”** Sheepstealer cut in when a huff of wind brought him closer to them **,** his anger of the past evoking within the others. **“Kill. Them. Stop. Bother.”**

Another thing he learned about dragons is that they didn’t value human lives. People, mostly, were like sheep to them: had some worth, but a few dozen less would not make any difference.

Jon didn’t mind; in his opinion humans value each other’s lives even less.

**“What about the Wall?”** Jon returned to his original point. 

**“First. Humans. Strong. Magic.”** Silverwing shared with him his feelings of anxiety and fear when he first flew above the wall. Beyond the white cold horizon there was a presence of powerful and hostile magic, the same magic embedded the wall’s foundations and held the dragon at bay.

_Wait… So he tried to fly over it, but turned back…. Why? Why would the hostile sorcery be also in the wall?_

The dragon listened to his musings and huffed. **“She. No. Understand.”**

Jon always has brushed Old Nan stories as nonsense in the past. The old woman told them about the creatures beyond the Wall, giants, mammoths, monstrous spiders, skinchangers – who were part of the Stark’s lineage also – and the worst of all: the White Walkers. After everything he has been through, what he was, Jon found harder to scorn her tales.

The queen may not have understood at the time why Silverwing did not want, nor could, to go past the wall, but Jon did. Silverwing was right: nobody builds a two hundred meters high wall for no reason.

* * *

#### EDDARD – Northern bastard outlaw.

Winterfell - 302 AL.

“You don’t believe me.” The bit was out in a bitter defeated tone. “But I saw what I saw. It’s true father, it’s all true. If a dead person can rise, I am willin’ to give the benefit of doubt to all the tales. We should remember ‘em, ‘The North Remembers’.”

Talking about the Watch was not the reason Ned called for his son, but the lad was impossible since he returned from the Wall. He insisted they had to _prepare_ for the Others, that the North should send more man and resources to the Night’s Watch, that dead people were arising through black magic…

Catelyn worried for their son’s sanity since Robb was not one for telltales, and the lad was either mad or lying. Ned sighed and tried to explain it to his son _again._

“Robb… I do believe you, but you must understand that a person may look like dead after spending hours in the snow. It’s a common mistake.”

“It’s true, my lord.” Sir Rodrik jump in his aid, addressing Robb. “I’ve seen it happen with beast and men. The breathing turns shallow when cold, the blood thickens and barely flows in the veins. But it’s there. Heat the body up again and it’s quite a fright when it wakes up.”

“But he did not _looked_ dead, he was dead!” Realizing he was only repeating himself Robb took a deep breath and said calmly. “I promised the Night’s Watch that house Stark would plead for the iron throne the resources they need, I cannot break that promise.”

“I wouldn’t let you to,” Ned said casually “I will write the letter right away.”

“No, no. I would like to write it myself… to the prince… if you allow me.”

Ned successfully hid his surprise at the request. Although Ned was in part responsible for the ill strand relations between the crown and the North, he was glad that Robb’s friendship with prince Aegon would change that and the new generation would benefit for the resulting ties.

_The ill stains of the past have no place in the hearts of the younger._

“Very well, as you wish.” He agreed eager to put an end to this subject. “Securing the Night’s Watch interest is one of the duties of the wardens of the north, but that is not why I called you here.”

“Oh?” His son piqued with interest. He eyed Sir Rodrick to get a hint, but the man remained impassive.

“Do you remember the bastard?”

Robb’s mood immediately went sour. “The jerk who ran away and left us thinking he was kidnapped or dead? How could I forget?.” He asked sarcastically while Rodrick ill disguised his chuckle with a cough.

Ned sighed deeply. “Jon left. Let him be.” He said, but did not developed. “I wasn’t talking about him.”

“You mean the brotherhood? The Friends of Snow.” His son inquired genuinely, and Ned nodded. “I thought you sent a detachment to deal with them.”

“I did, but it was not enough. The band of this Snow bastard is growing larger, and he is getting bolder. Now they not only pillage but took to kidnap and rape as well. Last report say they attacked a village in the broken branch, a daughter of one of the knights of Lady Lyessa is missing.” Ned let the information sink in. “The Manderlys and Hornwoods asked to join forces to stop him.”

Friends of Snow attack. Image by LynxSphinx.

“Then we shall! And summon the Boltons and Flints as well, after all this band is attacking the east.”

“Aye, but it’s not so easy.” He agreed they had to take action, although he rather keep Roose Bolton out of it. The man had been keeping suspiciously quiet about the whole thing, even with the band neared the Dreadfort.

“Their leader is clever and elusive. Tracking parties with no success so far most not even return at all.” Rodrick explained concerned. “They never remain one place for long, and move fast. I say someone must be protecting them.” His master-of-arms threw a side look to Ned; both agree Bolton’s silence was apprehensive at best.

Robb listened to all pensive and Ned opted to share the last unnerving bit of news. “Perhaps you should know: the bastard is said to have pale eyes and raven hair… There are people claiming is Jon.”

His son almost jumped in his seat bug-eyed. “What? That’s ridiculous! Jon is far away in Essos.”

“Indeed, but they don’t know it.”

“Most know this is horse-shit, lord Robert.” Rodrick said jovial. “Folk say the bastard is uglier than a scythe fight. So unless Jon was run over by a pack of buffalos, it’s not him.” He let out a small laugh.

“So what we will do?” Robb asked his father at last.

“Find this band, put an end to it, discover who this bastard is and stop the gossips. As far, no lord stepped forward to claim this Snow as his son.”

“No wonder.” Rodrick mumbled under his breath.

“We have to prepare. Hunting these outcasts in the woods may be a waste of time if we don’t have more information first. So I leave to you go to Widow’s Watch as soon you can talk to Lady Lyessa about the Friends of Snow. Just go there and return immediately, I don’t want you going after these bandits by yourself, do you understand?”

He look down on his son sternly. The last thing he needed was for Robb to take matters in his own hands and endanger himself. _If he dares I will spank him like a fiendish babe._

In any case it was important for Robb to go and put his mind in something else. Between what happened in the Wall and the recently departure of Theon Greyjoy back to his family, there was too much for his son to deal with. He would turn poor Alya crazy.

“Don’t worry father”. Robb said confident. “It shall be done.”


	28. The red priestess - I serve no kings. / Jon - First bastard daughter of Valyria.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Names that will appear: triarchs Parquello Vaelaros (unspoken boss), Nyessos Vhassar (fat guy) and Belicho Staegone (meek and dandy).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image "Volantis" here: https://br.pinterest.com/pin/310255861827672825/  
> "Triarchs and their elephants" here: https://ironthronerp.fandom.com/wiki/Volantis  
> "Typical Scion of Old Blood" here: https://br.pinterest.com/pin/825847650416989911/

#### THE RED PRIESTESS – I serve no kings. I serve a god.

Dragonstone - 302 AL.

Melisandre stood in a warm room of the fortress of Dragonstone, staring in the flames of the fireplace, hopelessly looking for any answers the Lord of Light deemed her worthy. She devoted years to the mastery of seeing her Lord’words in the flames, but the shades still could elude her. She could no failed now, for the king finally summoned her for questions regarding her visions, after years of waiting.

This was the second time in the island; the first was many years ago. Almost eighteen, if her memory serves her right.

The first time, she and many other priests in Volantis felt R’hollor welcoming his champion into the world, so Melisandre set sail to the same castle in order to meet the promised prince of the prophecy. To her surprise, the prince was older than she expected almost one year and a half, when she predicted a baby a few months old.

But there was no mistaking the signs. The prince would come from an ancient bloodline of heroes, he would be born into salt and smoke, his presence would wake dragons from the stone, his birth would be graced with a red star gracing the skies…

Maybe not all fit Aegon Targaryen perfectly, but he had to be the prince. Who else?

_The Great Other's servants oft hide black hearts in gaudy light. Lord of Light show me your wisdom._

“You told me years ago in this same room my son would be our savior.” The king of the seven kingdoms pressured her again. A slightly tone of warning in his otherwise lyric voice. “And I believed you. Since my son drew his first breath, I believed he was the promised prince, and you confirmed. Could you have committed a mistake?”

She cautiously noticed the plead in his tone. _Oh… such a proud father he was of that little baby_ , she reminisced. So sure of his destiny, taking Melisandre’s words for granted. _“Be careful what you ask for, king. With prophecy comes torment.”_ She had said then.

“It was shown to me in the flames, my king. Azor Ahai is among us once again, the long night is approaching. The lord of the light’s champion will ensure our triumph in the great war to come.” She said confidently.

The king shook his head and yanked his hand through his face, his voice tired. “It cannot be Aegon. I don’t even want him to be anymore. I wanted it before, but then I was younger and a delusional fool.” She eyed him curious by the change of heart. When the young prince was a baby, that same man before her was quick and even happy to affirm his son was the child of the prophecy. “ _If_ this prophecy is real, and _if_ the prince comes from my line…. Neither means it’s Aegon.”

Her mind work fervently to reach a reasonable argument. The flames never lied, and the flames showed her a child from the ancient dragon line, whose blood were kin with the fire of R’hollor, would be their champion.

_It has to be prince Aegon. We have no time left. The darkness deepens in the North._

_But the bright of fire grows in the east,_ she remembered troubled. Not in the west, where the prince is….

“It must be, my king. The signs are clear. His demands are known. The country must be prepared now, more than ever before, to withstand what is coming.” Melisandre was unsure of what else to say; doubt and uncertainty clouded her mind.

“That woodswitch told a similar tale to my great-grandfather,” The king said without looking at her, but the persistent sensation of warning was there. “and that cost my family a lot of suffering, priestess. My parents were forced to marry; my mother suffered horrors. All for me; but I was not him. The third head, my Visenya…” He took a deep breath, but didn’t finish the line of thought. “I want to get rid of all the witches and priestess and their prophecies… But we received news from the North not long ago.”

She was handed a small scroll of paper containing a message addressed to the prince. Amidst requisitions for more resources for the Night’s Watch and for commitment of the crown to aid in its proper maintenance, the heir of Winterfell told a gruesome tale of dead men returning to the world of the living during his visit to the Wall, bearing cold blue eyes and ill-intent.

She clasped the parchment harder and read two times over to be sure. _It is already happening, just like the flames showed me._

Melisandre tried to remember what she knew about the Wall. It was built and enchanted by the first-men, the eldest of the races of men and wilders of powerful sorcery. They stopped the greatest enemy of R’hollor before. _Their magic must be seeped into the ice, protecting it from the Outsiders..._

_Azor-Ahai was of the first-man,_ she mused and paced at the same time, her mind working fast to catch up with her sudden understanding. _Can his lineage be alive in Westeros?_

_The kings of Winter? The builder of the Wall? His heirs… Yes, that must be it._

She glanced the hearth, almost expecting to see a sign of validation from the Lord of Light, anything that would assure her that the such idea was right _. Is this why the promised one’s blood sing the song of ice as well as fire great Lord?_

R’hollor said nothing, but she knew to be on the right path _. Fire and ice, that is what I need._ She only needs to find a way to connect prince Aegon with the blood of the first-man, but how?

“Aegon does not know about this, I seized this letter before he could notice.” The king said sat in a chair. She didn’t even noticed he moved, distracted as she was. “I don’t want him to find out about its contents either, under _any_ circumstance. If such does occur, I will very, _very_ upset. Do you understand, priestess?”

Melisandre understood the underlining threat perfectly, but couldn’t the king see how important the prince’s involvement was in all of this? In the Great War to come, the crown prince should not be blindsided in the south, in any event.

“I should offer my guidance to the prince Aegon in the times to come. R’hollor trusted me in guiding his champion throu-“

“I said _no_.” The king interrupted her coldly. “I don’t want my son to have any more encouragement to hurt himself following this prophecies. So you and your kin stay away, you’ve been warned.”

Melisandre politely nodded, gesture maximized by a small courtesy, although it was obvious for the king she feigned the submission. Her next words confirmed his impression.

“I will abide by your wishes Targaryen king. But know that I obey a god before any man, and the Lord of Light’s commands shall be known sooner or later.” She said coldly.

Rhaegar stiffened and replied in the same fashion. “For your sake I hope your god’s wishes remain outside my family’s well-being, or I may be forced to pass a law forbidden the praise of the Red God in Westeros. Followed by a decree with severe punishment for anyone willing to disobey, starting with you.”

She nodded once again and excused herself, but his threats fell empty on her. Melisandre had more important things to worry about than the praise of the Lord of Light in Westeros. The fate of the world rested on the prince.

_“Light your flame among us, R'hllor. Show us the truth or falseness of this man. Strike him down if he is guilty, and give strength to his sword if he is true. Lord of Light, give us wisdom.”_

_“For the night is dark and full of terrors.”_

* * *

#### JON – First bastard daughter of Valyria.

Volantis - 302 AL, one month after leaving Yunkai.

Their arrival in the outskirts of the city was… dramatic. Eight thousand unsullied outside the great wall, all in perfect formation, alongside the five hundred soldiers of the Golden Company, plus the outcasts from Astapor who followed them all the way to Volantis. Jon didn’t want them along, but with the city destroyed and the slaves without families or anywhere else to go, many chose to go with him, rather than rebuild Astapor.

_A problem for later. In time, they want it or not, they will set up and rebuild that shit hole._

And the great highlight of their arrival: the tree full-grown dragons flying in the skies, who could at any time set fire to the city, and end that place in the blink of an eye. The citizens were already waiting for them – notified by the lookouts no doubt – occupying the high walls, trying to get a closer look at the dragons. And, on a side thought, trying to measure the menace.

Jon himself rode the last few miles on top of his horse, rather than fly. He knew that, unlike with other visitors, some of the Volantine authorities would come out to receive him into the city and, perhaps, try to gather what he wanted and how to make him get out of Volantis as soon as possible.

“I don’t get it. How these Triarchs are elected anyway?” He asked Lazos. The old sellsword knew Volantis well, and was briefing him about what to expect in there.

“Through bribery, threats and sham, in practice.” He replied with scorn. “In theory, however, all the free landowners vote for the candidates of one of the two parties: elephants or tigers. The three winners rule Volantis for a year and a day. Then the fuckin’ mummery starts again.”

Tigers and elephants he understood already. The first one was part of the aristocracy and the warriors elite. They wanted to conquer the whole world, for they believe that is their right by blood - what didn’t really mater since they held no power for centuries. The second was part of the merchant guild and money lenders, and its greatest purpose was… the same thing: conquer the world, but by trade instead of war.

Regardless of the party, all the Triachs were scions of the Old Blood, which mean they can trace their ancestry back to Old Valyria itself. These same scions resided in the heart of Volantis, inside the fabled Black Walls, within the city, a place in which only them were allowed to live.

_All very impressive,_ Jon reflected amused, _but who is the one with actual dragons here?_

“Tree rulers? It’s a bit too much hein?” Jon commented. Although it was unfair, Quart was ruled by a council of thirteen motherfuckers no less.

“You think that’s too much?” Lazos counter with his eyes wide. “Do you know how these fuckers walk in the city? On top of an elephant. And they only step in ground covered by tapestries, for no triarch can touch the ground with their feet ‘cause of doe-leather prissy sandals…” The man put his tongue out to pronounce that last bit, and Jon cackled.

“’Tis too stupid, it’s not possible…” He argued.

“Wait and you will see.” The older man promised. “They shall receive us on top of an elephant, I could bet my right arm on this one.”

“I am tryin’ to visualize some guy crossing the whole city on top of an elephant just to greet us. Imagine the amount of dung in its trail…” Jon japed. “A good old smell of shit and you can tell the triarch was here.”

Lazos laughed with pleasure. “Yeah! Hahaha, somethin’ like it. But the elephants are used to a lot of ends, carrying goods for example. And he will not cross the whole city; we are already in the east side, this is were the Black Walls are. Perhaps you do not know, but Volantis is divided by a large river, the Rhoyne, and the east and west banks are connected by the Great Bridge--”

“The largest in the world.” Jon commented, remembering the wonders of construction he heard to exist in the city.

“That one.” His friend approved. “Now, the east bank is where the good stuff is, even the mice are richer this side. The bridge and the west bank, well… Is a cesspool of dippers, fucking and poverty. Nothing to see there, although the bridge is impressive.”

Even after years with the Company Jon surprisingly never visited Volantis – the location of their headquarters. He’d been to a great deal of cities throughout Essos, but avoided Volantis, since he avoided Harry. And Harry, for his part, must had wanted him miles away in the last year.

But he was glad to be here now, his men were eager to enjoy the many taverns and brothels the great city had to offer and spend their hard-earned gold. The unsullied however… He glanced to Grey Worm standing next to him, with an unreadable expression. He didn’t understand those eunuchs, they wanted for nothing, and mostly just obeyed orders like mindless grunts.

_Each one had to kill a baby to become what they are today_ , he remembered. _What did damage them more: kill a baby or lose the cock?_

The gates opened and, as he previewed, a group of men donned in posh clothing came out to receive them, one of them – for his surprise – on top of an elephant.

Triarchs and their elephants. Image by ???

_The triarch? Holy shit, it’s true_. Jon glanced to Lazos, who snorted while laughing at the scene.

A group of slaves followed close by, some carrying crimson carpets, others large vases full of flower petals. The triarch came down from the elephant using a ladder attached to the side of the beast, while slaves quickly spread out the carpets on the floor, in Jon’s direction. Some slaves tossed the flower petals in the carpets, like a grotesque mimicry of a wedding.

_At least my bride is fancy_ , he reflected amused, while looking at the middle-aged, fair-haired, blue-eyed triarch approaching, all garbed in samite and jewelry. Jon’s own clothing consisted mostly in simple leather pants, and boiled leather armor. The officers around him not much different.

“Welcome to the Great City of Volantis, last bastion of the scions of Old Valyria, homeland of the true Old Blood.” The men started with a flair, shoving his arms in the air to make his point. “I am triarch Belicho Staegone, of the merchant’s guild, one of the three rulers of this city. We were amazed with the news of dragons returning to this world, and are flattered to receive in our city its dragonlord, whose blood is kin to ours I am sure.” He waited for Jon to say something, but he was too busy judging the volantine’s flamboyant movements. Without any reaction, the triarch asked. “May I ask your name, lord of the dragons?” 

Lazos had to elbow his ribs for Jon to wake from his day-dreaming and think of an answer. “I am Fay Lanren, if you must know”. He noticed the man’s continuous glances to the sky, trying to get a look of the dragons. “I’m looking for the Golden Company.”

Belicho was surprised. “Golden Company? We were not aware those… _esteemed_ mercenaries had such powerful connections.”  
  


“Yes, well… I am rather new.” Some of his men next to him let escape some giggles. The triarch’s mask of politeness was starting to slip, already letting out a brief disgusted look to some of the unsullied on the right side of the field.

Jon heard many times the noble volantines being referred to as bigots, so much it was basically common sense by now.

Jon went on. “I am here for Harry Strickland, the general-captain of the Company, sure you know of him.”. Belicho affirmed with a nod. “I am in need of some services from the man himself. Just tell me where he is, I’ll have a talk with him and go away from your _bastion of the Old Blood_.”

Belicho wasn’t convinced, but seemed relieved that Jon wasn’t there to murder and conquer them all. “We maintain many contracts with the Golden Company indeed, and I can tell their general-captain is not here at the moment. He left with a regiment months ago.”

“Really? Oh, that is a shame.” He should have guessed Harry would make him wait. “I am afraid my men and I will have to abuse the hospitality of your _great city_ for a while then, until he comes back, that is. We have very important business with him. Do you have any idea when that is?”

“I do not, no. However, my fellow triarchs anxiously awaits you to commune in the great palace, inside the Blacks Walls. I am certain they have information that can contribute with your search. Perhaps I can accompany you in the way there immediately? Everything is arranged for your visit at this very moment.”

That caught him off guard. The invitation was to sudden, maybe a trap? _Really stupid idea, if it is, the dragons will make cinders of all of ‘em._ However, Jon could not cower like a little bitch to every foreign space he enters for the rest of his life. Some bodyguards should be enough…

“I would like that very much. Heard many things about the Blacks Walls, it will be nice to finally see it. You go ahead master…” Jon had forgotten the triarch’s name. Jorah noticed and whispered it in his ear, yet he guessed the damage was already done, for the volantine frowned lightly. “…Staegone. I will catch you soon.”

Jon watched the ridiculous show of the triarch climbing back on the elephant, while his slaves fetched the carpets from the ground. Even his guards had to help the slaves to fold again the damn thing. He turned back to his companions to sort it out.

“So.. Who shall come with me?” He questioned his fellow officers, aware that all of them preferred to go anywhere but the viper’s nest.

Bracham was the first to hiss and step back. “Hmm, I guess I should stay here if you don’t mind. Need to lead some fellas to the nice places in the city, visit a couple o’ friends, visit gandmomma’s grave and so on…”. It was a lame excuse, but Bracham would be more useful keeping his ears in the ground anyway.

The others remained quiet, unsure about what claim to get out of the meeting. Except Grey Worm… He just didn’t care. Jon suspected deep down the eunuch purely hated him.

“Alright then, Bracham you stay here and… do whatever you do. Lazos, you take care of Urthemiel and Skyfall, and meanwhile try to organize the camp, seems we will stay here for a while. Jorah, you help Lazos and, if there is time, gather information about Harry. Grey Worm, congratulations, you come with me. Get five of your soldiers and let’s get ready to meet these bloody black walls.”

______________________________________

Jon was guided through the streets of Volantis by Bericho who was happy to share some bits of its rich history to him on their way to the palace. The city was bigger than he imagined – although he was only seeing a bit of the eastern bank - , and the fabled black walls were everything the legend claimed it was: tall, monstrous and wide enough for forty carriages to race side by side on its top.

Inside the famous Walls, he found a beautiful and rich district, who lived in a world all of its own, full of palaces, courtyards, temples and well-stocked cellars. It was the older part of Volantis, built in the time of the Valyrian Freehold, and only his pure ancestors resided there, as he could assert by the nobles strolling around: many silver-haired, light-skinned and purple eyed figures.

_Volantine nobility or prized lysene prostitutes?_ He laughed to himself, _ohh, the cruel doubt._

Inside the Palace of Justice - the so called ‘sit of the triarchs’ - the two remaining triarchs awaited him in a rich furnished room. Jon took a sit in front of the table, set with a wide variety of exotic fruits, cheese and fine liquors. There was no chair for Grey Worm, and zero intention of anyone to offer one, he could tell. So Jon insisted for a chair to be brought for his officer - a demand that repulsed the three volantine greatly. Funny enough, it was a silent repugnance, which spoke loudly about their intention to not offend him.

He told the other two the same thing he already said to Belicho, and in return received a promise of help to bring Strickland back to Volantis. They had an undisguised interest in his dragons, and more importantly how he intended to use them. Jon realized they wanted something from him, and were building the ground to actually propose their intent.

Nyessos Vhassar was an old, plump man, with little violet eyes, and hair who would be blonde if he had any. The man was so fat Jon could hear his armchair squeak under his weight. He was comely, calm and very concerned with the magic surrounding the dragons’ return to the world and how Jon succeed in hatching two of them.

_I never told them about the two dragonlings, they must be better informed than I thought._

The remaining triarch was Parquello Vaelaros: a skinny, tall, middle-aged man, whose angular features and freakishly white skin reminded Jon of a cadaveric wraith appearance. His bland white hair and pale blue eyes did not help either. Vaelaros was mostly quiet, but he could feel the man observing him with calculating piercing eyes.

“Where are you from, lord of dragons?” Nyessos questioned, still marveled by the idea of dragons and dragonblood.

“Westeros” He opted to tell the truth, his accent would give him away nonetheless. “The north part of the country.”

“Westeros?” The fat triarch asked confused. “I didn’t think Westeros have any lineages of the Old Blood.”

“There is the royal family,” Belicho reminded them. “the Targaryens descend from Valyria.”  
  


“Targaryens…” Vaelaros sneered, extremely calm, a cold tone in his voice. “Their lineage is dirty, muddled by all that Andal and Rhoynar blood they consorted with. It is a fact well known by all the scions.” The tall frail man stared directly into Jon’s eyes, his dead ghostly gaze was very disturbing. “Years ago, when the westerosi noble came to Volantis looking for a bride for prince Rhaegar Targaryen, he returned empty-handed, since none would associate themselves with that house: weak, soiled with madness…. As to prove our point, the prince went ahead and married a filthy rhoynar, of a lower slave race. That family don’t deserve to step a single foot inside the black walls of Volantis.”

The ‘westerosi noble’ must be the Baratheon lord who died in a shipwreck upon his return to Westeros; Jon remembered it from Maester Luwin’s lessons. _What is with these volantines and blood anyway?_

_Dragonblood, dumbass._ He answered to himself _. Power. You can attest it more than anyone._

“True, the Targaryens are no more. Even so, are you a descendant of their house, Lord Lanren?” The plump triarch speculated.

“No, I am from the north. Targaryens are from the south. I guess my mother was the one who gave me the connections with the dragons, since my father is descendent of the first-men. However, it’s hard to dig further, I never met her.”. Jon deemed harmless sharing the information. There would be no problem in divulging some broken pieces of knowledge, he reflected, if it would get what he wanted.

“And she was the one who gave your beauty as well of course.” Nyessos continued. Even while he talked, the triarch kept gorging cheese and wine down his throat. “Only those of a high breed, belonging to scions of the Old Blood, are graced with such refined features.”

Jon had to bring his hand to his mouth and disguise a cough to hold his laugh. That bit coming from such a ball of grease was hilarious.

Nyessos didn’t seem to notice the interruption, still deep in his delusions, pouring himself more wine. “A magnificent woman she must have been, certainly. A sad thing you never had the pleasure to meet her. I, for one, would be delighted to make her acquaintance. I dare say she is a scion of Volantis, lord of dragons, for we house the only remaining pure blooded families in the world, hence it’s only right you are one of us.”

_That would be a dream come true for you, wouldn’t you damn well-cork?_ Jon was amused by the man’s boldness, still he decided - against his best reason - to poke them a bit to test his boundaries.

“Tsk, tsk, I doubt it, my esteemed Triarchs. You see… I am a lowly bastard from the North of Westeros, and my mother was most likely some foreign whore to whom my father took a fancy. Lysene is my best bet. Unless… some of the pure noble volantine maidens were in need of some quick coin by the side-road?” He smiled and winked sarcastically to the stunned nobles.

“It is an interesting idea, I must admit.” Jon continued nonchalant. “After all, from where else my blood might have come from, if not from the ancient bloodlines of the _foot soldiers_ of Old Valyria, who were the ones to actually found this city in its early history.”

Jon smirked while the masters stared at him dismayed, Nyessos coughing loudly having chocked on his wine. Vaelaros caught on his provocation, and sneered briefly before recomposing himself, shifting on his sit. Jon tried not to avert from the slitted milky glare of the man.

_Scions of old blood they might be, but not descendants of dragonlords_. Jon deliberated annoyed. _They are the jumped-up successors of a bunch of valyrians bricklayers sent to found a city, and think that made them especial_.

Typical 'Scion' of Old Blood, by ??? 

Belicho cleared his throat and wisely changed the subject, probing him about his travel to Volantis.

They spent a great deal of the afternoon involved in their conversation – if one can call the volantine coaxing Jon for details of his life a conversation. He felt himself studied by those men, like they wanted to crack him open to see the secrets within his blood. But that was not all; there was a great interest in his personal and political alliances, to which Jon replied there was none. _It’s not a lie per see, they want something from me, but it’s unlikely related to the North._

“Is there any more dragonriders, Lord Lanren, or you are the only one?”. Belicho inquired.

“As far as I know, I am the only one”. Jon answered truthfully. “But who knows? The world is a big place.”

“Indeed, wise words from one so young. The world is a big place, but not big enough for all I am afraid”. The triarch took a sip of his mint liquor, reading himself for some big speech. “Once, the Valyrians conquered all these lands, for they were necessary for the greatness of the Empire and, perhaps most of all, for the improvement of the lesser societies. Yes, first and foremost, those feeble-minded barbarians gained purpose from their subservience to our great kin. They began to produce, to build, and to actually be useful as human beings. Few realize how important it is for the lesser races to have a dominant and guiding hand over them. ”

While Belicho spilled his nonsense, Jon noticed the other two occasionally nodding in agreement. _Do they seriously believe by enslaving others the ancient valyrians ‘gave them purpose’, or it is just the special bullshit reserved for outsiders?_

On the other hand, Jon just showed up at their door with his own army of eight thousand slaves, therefore such thing had to be expected.

_“_ Nowadays, Volantis thrives in doing the same; we guide lesser cities through trade, and for centuries Essos prospered. We establish prices, the real worth of the coin and the taxes, and in return all the other cities have to do is follow our guidance. Bravos… help us, you could say.” Belicho slighted, as if he was talking of a small unimportant city, and not the wealthiest in Essos. Wealthier than Volantis. “Then again, we are now faced with a threat to the natural order.”

Belicho refrained his speech thoughtfully, searching for ways to continue, but Jon did not mind the wait. He was intrigued to learn once for all what the triarchs wanted from him, and knew Belicho was about to end the mystery. However, before that could happen, Vaelaros jumped into the conversation.

“That is a matter for later.” He dismissed the other triarch with a motion of his hand, and then turned to Jon. “I am certain Lord Lanren is tired of his trip, and we held him here long enough.” Parquello Vaelaros aimed the young man an inquisitive stare.

Although Jon was curious, he felt wise to leave the matter for latter. “Triarchs, I enjoyed our little tête-à-tête, but it was a long trip and I am feed up, I am sure you understand.”. He said rising up to his feet, followed by Grey Worm, who remained stoic and silently during the whole reunion.

Belicho glanced nervously to Parquello, who apparently held some power over the other two – if by force of his personality or money Jon was unsure -, and agreed solemnly. “Of course, how ungracious of me. I will gladly continue our conversation another time.”

“We have a residence prepared for you within the Black walls Lord Lanren” Nyessos notified him. “It is only proper for the dragon rider to stay in the ancient Volantis. The residence belonged to a scion once, but he died without any heirs, the last of his lineage. It would be an honor to have one such as you living in his place.”

Jon wasn’t expecting it; a residence among ‘the elite’ was too great of a gift. The triarchs must be very interested in pleasing him – and the knowledge make him uncomfortable. Not used to look a gift horse in the mouth, Jon accepted it graciously. He would spent most of his time in the camp with the rest of his men anyway, but it would be nice to have a proper house to hang out sometimes.

__________________________________________

Grey Worm accompanied him on his way back, plus his bodyguards, and Jon felt the need to extract the eunuch his impressions of what he witnessed.

“So… what do you think happened back there?” Grey Worm delayed a bit before realizing Jon was talking to him, so Jon insisted. “What do you they want?”

“They want to please the dragon rider, to get the master on their side.” He answered simply and direct, a trait Jon learned to appreciate.

In the beginning the stoic Grey Worm barely pronounced a word to Jon, refraining himself to ‘Yes, master’ or ‘Yes, dragon rider’. As time passed and the travel went without any punishments or unnecessary reprimands on Jon’s part, his commander began to stay more at ease in his presence, realizing Jon was an extremely lazy master.

In fact, he was the worst master of all times, since he didn’t give a rabbit’s prick about what the unsullied talked, or what they did in their free time. As long they did their job, they were fine. It has only been a few weeks, but the change in his commander was noticeable.

_Grey Worm has temper and pride buried under there, which not even a whole like of slavery managed to brake._

Still, the eunuch disliked him, it was subtle but Jon could notice in his tone and stare. He was not sure why though. Grey Worn eventually glanced at the slaves passing through, their station evident by their tattooed faces, a distinctive volantine custom.

_In this way, they can never truly be free_.

“Had some heavy ass-licking there, don’t you think?” He did not expect an answer. “First I considered they might want to kill me, but it could not be further from the truth.”

“They want the power the dragon rider has. Kill you would be a waste, and merchants don’t like to waste.”.

_Crue and true,_ Jon mused whilst observing Sheepstealer far away, high above in the sky. Along the streets, many observers stop to get a glimpse of the dragons, and some to gaze at Jon, uttering low and grumbled whispers he could not understand. He opted to ignore them and focus on the merchant stalls lengthways the streets, in one a bunch of colorful ribbons displayed, with some cute leather bracelets.

“Look,” He turned Grey Worm’s attention to the stall. “How about a ribbon for Missandei?”

The greatest indication that Grey Worn was not a mindless and emotionless puppet – despite his external behavior – was the little translator slave girl he took under his wing in Astapor, Missandei. After Jon destroyed the city, Missandei was one the slaves with nowhere else to go, but he found out two weeks later the girl residing in Grey Worm’s lodges, and been very well treated by him. Jon appreciated his commander for taking the initiative – a good translator is always useful -, personally he had totally forgotten about her. 

They approached the salesman who looked thrilled at the prospect of a customer with actual money. He pushed some items in front of Jon, and was surprised to learn that was actually Grey Worm the one interested.

_He is my slave but… It’s complicated._


	29. Daenerys - He is just a baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image "Jana, Gaemon's mother" here: https://www.deviantart.com/acidlullaby/art/Leena-152746976.

#### DAENERYS – He is just a baby.

King’s Landing - 302 AL

Her mother and she observed Rhaenys pacing in front of the window, both unsure what to say to calm her. _If_ calming her was a possibility at all.

It was inevitable; they all knew it was a matter of time for her nephew’s first bastard to appear. Since he began to show interest in the opposite sex many years ago, Aegon gathered a vast number of conquests amidst nobles and plebe. Neither Rhaegar or Elia minded his liaisons – nobody did – for it was good for a prince to have a proper amount of experience to succeed in the marital bed.

Daenerys even suspected Aegon was encouraged into it.

And yet Rhaenys didn’t take the current situation well. He niece never held any contempt towards bastards before, but the baseborn baby with Aegon’s blood proved to be too much for her.

The bastard was born big and healthy – a son any father would be proud of.

“I saw him, the baby look just like Aegon!” She shrieked with a mist of anger and sadness, a tear trailing her face. “How could he do this?! I want this bastard and his whore mother AWAY FROM HERE!”

“Rhaenys dear, this is not possible,” Rhaella tried to coax her gently. “It’s Aegon’s child. He wants the baby with him. And so do I. Gaemon may be a bastard, but it’s our blood too.”

Egg surely did. He proudly showed his son to the rest of the family, saying how the boy would grow into a proud warrior who would serve House Targaryen. Rhaegar and Elia, albeit nervous with the prospect of a bastard within their family, welcomed the little baby like any jolly new grandparents would.

“Gods, Aegon, he looks just like you. The Red Keep cannot stand two Aegons Targaryen!” Elia quipped gently while holding her first grandson. All her initial contempt for the baseborn bastard suddenly gone.

“I think I will have no choice but to double the guards.” Rhaegar joked back and Aegon chuckled.

Rhaenys stood dangerously quiet in her place. In her face an expression once rare, but one that was getting increasingly recurrent in the last months: pure hate.

Daenerys, on the other hand, fell immediately for the cuteness of the baby. His pouty mouth, rosy cheeks and whispers of silver hair made her beam delighted. She softly nudged Elia’s shoulder until the queen relented and handle her the baby for a bit, teaching her how to hold his head.

Then little Gaemon opened his eyes and Dany saw the first heritage of his mother in him. Her own mother saw it as well, and align the blanket to get a better view of his face.

“Green,” Rhaella said about those big luminous emerald eyes, trailing a finger in the baby’s cheek. “I always loved this color. Oh.. you will be a handsome one.”

“What about his mother?” Daenerys asked.

She knew the woman was a servant in dragonstone, and the tanner’s daughter. She was curious, however, what would be made of her. Her mother awaited Egg’s answer equally curious.

Aegon cleared his throat, and made an effort to avoid the scolding stare of his father. “It would be no good for my son to grow without his mother. So I want to bring Jana here. She can work in the Red Keep and be present for him.”

Rhaenys scowled even deeper if that was possible. Her niece glare fixated on the baby and Dany felt the ridiculous urge to protect him from her stare.

“I will think about it.” Rhaegar said firmly, not about to let Aegon forget he had the last word. “But I don’t deem bring the girl here is appropriate. Gaemon’s presence is…. enough.”

Elia glanced at her daughter sensing the impending explosion.

Rhaenys, however, quietly turned around and left their presence. Somehow that attitude worried Daenerys more than her usual explosions.

She handed the baby back to his father and watched as Aegon smiled and cooed to his son. She knew her brother would not bring the mother to live with little Gaemon Waters. Dany felt sorrow for the faceless young woman; a mother who would have to let go of her son because of her peasant blood, as if her love didn’t matter as much as a noble upbringing.

Jana, Gaemon's mother. A poor peasent woman. Image by acidlullaby.

A crashing sound by her side snapped her back to their moment. Daenerys noticed her niece had just knock down a bottle, making a mess in the expensive rug, and was still arguing with Rhaella.

“Gaemon will stay here with or without your acquiescence, at least while he is a child. _Then_ we shall send him away. Your father agreed with that.” Her mother told Rhaenys again with a hint of exasperation in her tone.

“That bastard bring shame to our house! We had enough Blackfyres as it is, these bastards only bring war and mayhem to our family!” Rhaenys yelled taking down a chair this time. “If being childless wasn’t enough, I will have to put up with this whore spawn here in my own home!?”

“Scream and curse all you want, but _not_ in my presence.” Rhaella said coldly, rising up to leave the room. Her mother was not one to tolerate Rhaenys outburst, cutting her short since childhood. “I will send a servant to clean up your mess.”

The queen mother left both princesses alone, and Daenerys felt the strange urge to follow her only to get away from Rhaenys. A year ago they would talk, laugh and gossip like the best friends they ar… were. But that was another Rhaenys.

She focused her gaze on the green dragon egg next to the hearth, and felt Rhaenys stare at her, waiting and expecting… something. After a long moment of silence, Dany got up and ready herself to leave when she heard Rhaenys scoffing.

“ _So_ … I bet you are going after that whore princess from who-cares-island?” She asked bitter, a small smirk on her lips, albeit the sadness within her gaze betrayed the smirk. “Or maybe fuck Jaime in some god-knows corner?”

“Don’t talk about Mahda like that.” Daenerys chastised her deadpanned, she wouldn’t give away any long answer for Rhaenys to work on. “And I was never indecent with Jaime.”

“Sure… As if you don’t spend all your time with her. What is it? Is she teaching you some tricks for making the lion purr?” Rhaenys waited a few heartbeats too see if Dany would take the bait, and continued when that didn’t happen. “Or dear Jaime, of course. The one kingsguard you make sure to drag everywhere with you. Does he roar loudly when you shove your hands between his legs?”

_I would tell you why I drag him along. But I barely recognize you anymore._

“That never happened.” She answered simply and hurried to leave. “See you later, Rhaenys.”

_________________________________

“I tell you, he is so cute! He looks just like Aegon, but with those big green eyes and rosebud cheeks. You will like him.” Daenerys keep rambling to Mahda about the new baby all the way to the boy’s room. The two princesses giggled and laughed under the watchful eye of Jaime Lannister.

The knight himself looking as bored as ever with the women’s rambling.

“Just like the silver prince you say?” Mahda chuckled some more. “Can we put little dragon wings on him? White, to match the hair!”

Daenerys laughed at the picture. Gaemon with little dragon wings would send everyone to its knees; they had to do it!

They were almost at the door when Mahda suddenly stopped and held her hand to her asking for silence. Daenerys caught up soon with her plead, for there where soft noises coming from inside the room. She scooted closer to the door and realized it was sobbing. From a woman.

Jaime approached them and took the lead to open the door, but Dany stopped him. A woman crying was no danger to anyone, there was no need for the betrayed glare of the knight as if she had offended him.

She entered first and quickly recognized the slender frame and long black hair of the woman shrunken on the floor. With her back to them, her shoulders trembled slightly in her weeping.

“Rhaenys?” She asked quietly, but her niece stood motionless.

Daenerys waved for the Jaime and Mahda to leave them, and so they did after a moment. Mahda immediately assessed the situation and nodded to her worried, but sympathetic. Dany knew they would remain at the door.

She crouched and touched her niece’s shoulder with tender caution, studying the room and finding nothing out of order. Just Rhaenys holding Gaemon tightly in her breast and weeping. A heart-breaking sound Dany had never heard before.

_What’s happening with you? Tell me what’s wrong so I can help you Rhae._ She thought, but held her mouth, just waited patiently caressing Rhaenys’ hair.

Then it clicked; the baby was too quiet, completely still and so pale… Anxiety began to build up while she got peaks of him hoping for some sign of life, only to notice a discrete small vial by Rhaenys’ side. The bile almost reached her throat.

“ _Rhaenys_ ” She called again, this time with a mix of despair and fury, although her tone remained low. “What have you done? Where is his nursemaid?”

A low whisper. “She is away.” Her niece looked up at her, her teary eyes concealing nothing but pure sadness, her elegant features distorted by the crying, and said. “I wanted him d--dead, I--I thought it would fi--fix everything.” She spoke stuttering and swallowing her sobs.

Dany could not believe what she heard. The words slowly sulked in her mind, and the realization of the scene in front of her. The baby, the poison…

_To want a child dead just because he is an ‘inconvenient’! How selfish can a person be?!_

_HOW DARE YOU?!_

Daenerys’ breath was lacking now, her breast constricted, her mouth hanging open trying to yell, to swear at Rhaenys, but the voice failed. _Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods…_ In a sweep of moment, she practically shoved Rhaenys aside to get Gaemon and, as if annoyed by the intrusion in his comfortable spot, the baby opened his big green eyes to stare at the miscreant.

“But I…I couldn’t,” Rhaenys continued, staring at the floor instead of a dumbfounded Daenerys. Dany leaned down to fetch the poison and saw the flask was still full. “I held the poison, it should be fast and clean and he…. He smiled at me…. Smiled…” She whispered and displayed a heartbreaking smile. “And I… I couldn’t!”

Dany’s throat was still half-closed, but she managed to maintain her speech fluent. “That’s good, Rhae, you saw reason. Gaemon is your nephew; he will love you as well as all of us.” She said kindly, although deep down scared _of_ – or maybe _for_ – her niece.

“I am weak…” Rhaenys cried and closed her eyes. “I am to be queen, I want this fucking bastard away from here, but I can’t do anything about it because I am weak. He will grow up and steal the throne from the children I will bear Aegon!”

_He saw treason in every corner…._ Her mother’s description of Aerys II, her father, echoed in her mind. _Even in our own family, mayhaps especially in our family._

_No…_ She shook that thought away. _Rhaenys is nothing like him. She is just confused._

“Rhae, each person is different. We don’t know how Gaemon will be, but he deserves a chance. Perhaps…” Dany mused about her words, she needed to tread lightly. “Perhaps we should talk to Rhaegar about it? Explain to him the situati--“

“NO!” Her niece snapped taken by dread. “Dany no, please! Don’t tell them what I’ve done! I won’t never try it again, I promise!” Rhaenys clutched her arms and practically begged with wide eyes. Her grip was so strong Dany was sure would leave a mark. “They will think I am mad! They will despise me, mock me behind my back!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, I won’t tell anyone, just calm down.” She should talk to her brother and mother about it, but the relief in Rhaenys’ expression was so honest that she felt compelled to be quiet.

Her niece took a deep breath and rose from the floor, glancing the baby in Dany’s arms impassive. “Thank you, Dany. I… I know I’ve been difficult, rude… unjust with you. I am sorry, truly. You deserve better from me.” She uttered quietly staring her feet, ashamed of herself. “You are my sister, my one true friend, and I miss you. You found new friends... But the others don’t like me…”

Daenerys stared her face disbelieved. The others don’t like her? Ridiculous! Did Rhaenys truly not notice how most of the women look up to her? How everyone considered her majestic, bold, and fierce? How she was the center of attentions? Rhaenys was so popular that most of the time Dany was only remembered by being by her side.

“I miss you too.” She said simply and honestly. However, as nice the moment was, she would not forget that bottle of poison so soon, nor forgive. “Rhae… The friend I grew up with and love with all my heart would _never_ harm a babe. If you ever do such a thing, you are no longer that person. Do you understand?”

Rhaenys looked at her face again and nodded sadly. “I do.” A mere whisper. “I am not sure I could love someone like that either”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *What about the threats from the other great houses, one might ask. Rhaenys had a suspicion,but she is far to caught in her own problems and her own mind to act on it. Dany is feeling lonely and rather vulnerable; the family in under stress due to Aegon and Rhaneys tense marriage, so she is afraid to add it. Then, is only a suspicion, nothing is certain… Just like Rhaenys told her uncle, if they began to distrust everyone they might turn paranoic (like Aerys? Cough, cough) and their people will plot with the same malice they learnt from them. (It’s from the bible ^^)

**Author's Note:**

> Appreciate grammatical corrections and suggestions of improved vocabulary. Thanks for the 'Blackfyre' warning! ;D


End file.
